FAITH, HOPE AND LOVE
by tudorrose33
Summary: All rights to the characters Grace Carter and Lt Col Roland Brett lie with the BBC. I'm only taking a walk with them down Wishful Thinking Lane. This is my first attempt at fan-fiction, so please be patient with me, but I do love this pairing. Rated M for future chapters. Roland and Grace discover the greatest of all gifts in the midst of the carnage of the First World War.
1. Chapter 1

They walked along the beach in companionable silence, listening to the sound of the slowly incoming tide. It would be two hours before the waters covered the sand. The heat of the day, oppressive at best, suffocating at worst, in the heavy canvas hospital tents, had sapped Grace's energy. She had sent several of the VADs back to their quarters, rightly thinking that they would be more hindrance than help if they collapsed from heat-stroke over their charges. Her stern tones belied the sympathy and inward admiration she had come to feel for these volunteer girls, for most were little more than that, who had faced & cheerfully met challenges unlike anything Grace had encountered in her nursing career. India and South Africa had been no preparation for the slaughter and maiming of the Western Front. She had stepped in to cover the resulting gaps in the rota & had nearly succumbed to the heat herself, but Roland had unexpectedly appeared to visit the men & suggested that they go for a walk together when both were free.

Over the months since his son's tragic death, Roland had spent an increasing amount of his limited free time with Grace. Her friendship, important to him even before Freddie's death, had since that point, become the only vestige of human comfort in the bleak landscape of war. She was his closest friend & confidante, with whom he could discuss his inmost thoughts. There had been no one else to whom he could turn. As CO he was supposed to set an example of fortitude in the face of the worst the enemy could throw at the British forces and their allies, but he found himself struggling to do so as grief, & then anger at the sheer bloody futility of it all, kicked in. Had it not been for Grace, he would have allowed his feelings to swamp him & that would have done his medical team no good at all. She had kept him grounded through the worst of it through simply listening & counselling him on the best way to cope with his errant emotions. That first Christmas had been one of the worst times, as it hit him that he would never see his son again. Grace had spent as much of the day with him as she could, taking the customary Christmas meal with him and letting him talk. She had let him cry, too; bitter tears of loss rising from deep within, and she had comforted him. In truth, her presence alone was enough to bring him comfort.

Not a day had gone by without them spending time with each other & imperceptibly Roland recognised that his feelings towards Grace had subtly shifted from simple friendship into something altogether deeper. He could not point to a single moment; it had happened gently, mirroring the general tenor of their relationship. Nothing about them was harsh or contrived. Theirs was a true meeting of minds, so much so that he had trusted her enough to explain the arid wasteland that was his marriage. Why he had felt he wanted to do that, heavens alone knew, but deep down he needed her to understand why he didn't speak of his wife to any degree; why he didn't clamour for letters from her & why he didn't turn to her for comfort.

In truth, it was as if Grace already knew. She did not judge him, but took his hand in both hers, squeezed it, and gently stroked it until he felt able to look at her squarely to say, "There is no marriage Grace; in fact I don't think there ever truly has been." He remembered that as if it was yesterday; the feeling of warmth and acceptance he had felt; the small smile which let him know it was alright. It was trust which permeated their relationship as much as the deeper feelings he had acknowledged he had for her. He knew that trust worked both ways for, shortly after his revelation, Grace had trusted him with one of her own. The cost was plain for him to see as her eyes filled with tears. All this time, he had grieved she had helped him and never taken so much as one jot of support to help her in her own loss. He realised that far from being shocked at her account of her relationship with the man he now knew to be called Amar, he was actually filled with admiration for her courage in facing up to the forces of prejudice and pettiness, which he had seen displayed in such quantity during the past two years of conflict.

Never had it hit him with such force than in the case of Sister Livesey. If anyone was going to feel righteous indignation at her love for an enemy soldier, it ought to have been him, coming immediately on the news of Freddie's death, and yet he had felt nothing except pity for the poor woman as she was forced to expose the intimate details of her feelings for the man, who clearly loved her, as much as she loved him. Then, too, Grace had done that which no one else would. He had seen her stand during the Sunday service and move to the edge of the tent as Joan was marched past, facing the open contempt of those gathered, but not Grace's: she had silently nodded to acknowledge her nurse and in that one gesture, Roland had seen the true depth of character which resided in the woman he saw as his dearest friend and whom he secretly hoped would be more, if she would have him. If he had not been in the grip of a grief almost beyond bearing, he would have joined her, but he told her that evening, when she came to sit with him, of his support for her actions. So many things had cumulatively led him to the point where he could, at least inwardly, admit that he loved Grace Carter. Had he known for one second that his feelings were reciprocated, Roland would not have hesitated to outwardly admit it to the woman walking at his side along the smooth tidal sand of this part of the north-west coast of France.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for your kind reviews, which have been really encouraging. I hope you enjoy the next instalment. I have kept the same name for Roland's wife as other authors have used; it seemed to make sense._

CHAPTER 2

Grace turned her face upwards, gazing at the smattering of tiny mackerel clouds, tinged with the first colours of the setting sun. Having spent all afternoon in the main tent, just to see the sky was a joy, but there was another reason for her happiness. For some time now, Grace had realised that her enjoyment of Roland's company had been mixed with something else, a newer emotion, which she knew was altogether not what she should feel for her CO, although she was honest enough to admit that it had always been there, albeit kept strictly under wraps, even to her. Part of that was, of course, the uncertainty surrounding Amar, but, with Major Ballard's arrival had come certainty, and she mourned her own loss alongside Roland, although he had not known about it for some time.

After Freddie's death, she instinctively knew that she had to be by Roland's side. He was her dearest friend in this hell hole of a place and he needed her, no matter what the poison tongues of Sister Quayle and Quartermaster Soper might make of her spending her free time with him. It had helped her to sit and listen, to counsel and assist him in his hour of greatest need. She found that she eventually could look at Amar's photograph without that awful knotting in her stomach and could recall the happier times before custom, convention and then the war drove them apart.

Roland's loss was different; the loss of a child had to be and she had asked him one day how his wife was coping. She had not expected what came next as he explained that their relationship was not, nor ever had been, based on mutual love and affection. Their parents were old friends who thought that an arrangement, involving the tying together of their respective offspring, would cement the bond still further. In truth, the tying together was more a yoke, which neither party relished, and, the duties required of them performed, Hetty had swiftly moved on to a relationship with a high ranking officer in the Guards. She had always felt that Roland's profession as a surgeon in the RAMC was not that of a real soldier and, as she herself was the product of multiple generations of military service, this manifested itself in a thinly veiled contempt, which soon altered into something more pernicious. The look of sadness in his eyes was testimony to the pain he had endured in a loveless marriage. He confessed that his feelings had been ploughed into his boys, but with their attendance at boarding school, even those had been denied him.

Grace could not bear the haunted look on his face and had reached out to take his hand in hers, smiling gently at him to reassure him that she was there for him. She felt such a sense of privilege to be his trusted friend and that feeling did not diminish. A few days later, Grace resolved to tell Roland about her relationship with Amar and, with some trepidation, she shared what had been, until now, the most important relationship of her life. She could not look at Roland at first, so convinced was she that he would shun her, as she had been assured by Margaret every right thinking person would. Curiosity finally got the better of her and she raised her eyes slowly, to be met by a gaze full of compassion. This was not what she had expected; indeed, Grace didn't really know what she had expected, beyond a sense of relief at unburdening herself to the person she trusted most in this mad, bad world on the periphery of which she stood. Her relief at his understanding was so intense that it threatened to completely overwhelm her. She felt her eyes fill with unshed tears, but something else came fleetingly to the forefront of her consciousness; a thought she quashed before it had time to take root, or so she believed.

That night, in the privacy of her tent, lying in wait of sleep which evaded her, she had finally admitted to herself that her feelings had developed beyond friendship. When he had confessed to her the loveless marital prison, which for years he had endured, she recognised that she had wanted to show him, by whatever means she could, that he was loved. After telling him about Amar, she knew that the person, who loved Roland, was her. On the heels of that revelation, Grace had felt the heat rise within and her skin flush with a longing she had thought never to feel it again; but it was hopeless. He would only ever see her as his friend, so it was best to ignore the welter of emotions buffeting her from all sides. She would stay by his side and settle for friendship. It was better than nothing and did at least bring them together to discuss their lives, their patients and staff. She knew that her role in his life was of crucial importance and value to him; that had to be enough and she convinced herself it was. Was it not more than he had with his wife? Who was it, too, who shared each decision and thought with him, if not her? They would always have this experience, awful though it was; yet it was theirs, no one else could touch that. As long as they lived, it would be of each other they thought in connection with these events of truly life-altering impact.

When earlier, therefore, Roland had suggested, in the heat and oppressive odours of the main tent, that they should walk on the beach this evening to enjoy the cooler air, Grace had swiftly said "Yes" and they had met in the shade of the pine forest which bordered Field Hospital 25A. The scent of crushed pine needles underfoot was a welcome change from that of soap, boiling laundry and the awful slightly sweet smell of diseased flesh which seemed to be everywhere.

Before walking briskly to their rendezvous, Grace had returned to her tent, washed her face and tidied her hair; her uniform as ever was crisp and clean. How she kept herself so seemingly pristine was the subject of much conjecture amongst the VADs and patients. Flora Marshall had ventured that she must have some magical spell, to which someone had said it was what was to be expected because she was such an old witch. Margaret, as ever, had passed on that titbit of gossip. She would never forgive Roland for choosing Grace as his Matron, or Grace for accepting the position. Even her words of congratulation had been slanted in such a way to take the credit for Grace's promotion and Grace had bristled inwardly at the use of the word "protégé". She could always be relied upon to undermine Grace at any opportunity, quietly spreading her malice amongst the VADs. Grace had seen, in Sister Livesey's arrival, a useful counter balance to Margaret and she had welcomed the new Sister's fresh and compassionate approach to the men in their charge, which was so similar to Grace's own.

To Grace, however, fell the responsibility for maintaining nursing standards and the confidence of the men in her team, whose remit was to heal them. If she was tough, if she chastised, it was for those reasons alone; so, when Margaret snidely repeated the "old witch" remark, Grace had not registered any emotion, but had pointed out that she would willingly run the gauntlet of ill-informed opinion in the pursuit of maintaining standards and discipline. It did hurt, though, that they saw her as a walking, talking rule book, when she was so much more. She had learnt young to hide her emotions behind a firm, and at times uncompromising, exterior, but that was not the real Grace. Her true nature was one of passionate response to situations and people, about which, and whom, she cared. Her emotions were there, never far from the surface. Amar had been the first to place a spark to powder which was dry and primed. Now, her love for Roland threatened to raise an emotional conflagration, so perhaps it was best they stayed as friends.

She was wise to Margaret's Machiavellian nature and waited until the coast was clear, ensuring that no one saw her as she set out from her tent. In the heart of the forest, precisely where he had said he would be, she found him leaning against a tree trunk and gazing upwards, as if he could reach the sky through sheer will power. Grace came to him quietly and gently touched his arm. He looked down at her and smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm sorry this chapter has been delayed, but I hope you enjoy it. Schumann set the words of Friedrich Rueckert's poem to music and the translation is from the original German. Thank you so much for reading and for your lovely reviews, which mean a lot to me. _

CHAPTER 3

"Ready?"

"Definitely, Roland. I hope I've not kept you waiting."

"Not at all and I wouldn't mind if you had."

Grace felt herself blush and quickly said, "I've been looking forward to having some time away from the hospital; even if just for a half hour."

"We might be longer than half an hour," Roland said, producing a bulging canvas bag from behind the tree trunk.

"What's that?"

"You'll find out in due course. Be patient, Matron Carter," he teased.

She smiled at his joking tone and realised it was a long time since he had used humour in their daily conversation. A good sign, she thought. They walked on towards the beach, the pine needles and sand underfoot muffling all sound. The tide was midway between the inner edge of the dunes along the shore and its furthest point, so they had at least two hours before the beach was submerged. It was a classic tidal stretch, which filled up gently and which seemed to go on forever. A walk along the beach was as long as its participants wanted it to be.

Grace revelled in the incoming breeze, which cooled her down after the exertions of the day. At times it was even a little chilly, but her short cloak protected her shoulders; Roland, too, had noticed her slight shiver at one point and offered her his arm, which she gratefully accepted as they walked on. It seemed so natural to be here with each other like this. Roland could feel the warmth of her hand on his arm and he was glad he had thought to do this.

As they walked they talked of their patients, of decisions which had to be made and the potential for new treatments, which could be used to ease the clear mental anguish of some of the soldiers, who arrived at 25A. This had become a particular interest of Roland's and the Prentiss case had made it more so. He would never forgive Sister Quayle for her lack of humanity over that Blighty ticket. His countermanding of a superior's order was not about insubordination; it was about basic decency, humanity and kindness. She was deficient on all counts, but she did not see it. If she did, she would have understood why he had picked Grace for the post of Matron, and would do so again, if the situation arose. Roland could feel the anger rising, as he thought about the outcome for Prentiss, and realised that he was spoiling this precious time with Grace. He pushed Sister Quayle's treachery to the back of his mind and concentrated on Grace. This was their time together and he wanted to derive at least some comfort from being with his closest friend. Grace had sensed his withdrawal and held faster to his arm, squeezing it lightly against her side. He looked down at her, reassuringly, & apologised for drifting off.

They walked some way more into the slowly setting sun, mixing silence with gentle conversation, perfectly at ease with each other. Grace looked back along the beach and could not see a soul. In her heart she was glad that they had this time alone. All Roland could think of was how lovely she looked in the warm glow of the sun, which illuminated her skin and hair with its golden tones. Eventually, he spotted his target; a small sheltered area between the furthest dunes and the edge of the trees. The tide never reached this far and nor did the hospital staff to his certain knowledge. The area was designated "Officers Only" and as all the others were on duty, that meant it was theirs for the evening. No paths through the forest led here and they would be free from prying eyes this far from the hospital.

"We're here, at last."

Grace looked pleasantly puzzled and slightly amused by his enthusiasm. His face seemed to lighten and he looked almost boyish.

So saying, Roland crouched down and dug into the bag, pulling out an army blanket which he duly spread on the sandy, springy ground at the edge of the trees, whose branches offered a light protective covering from above. The edge of the dunes sheltered them from the breeze off the sea, too. She went to help him, but he stopped her and told her this was a small treat for her. Next, he produced a muslin bag containing some good French bread and cheese wrapped in waxed paper, two crispy apples (a treat in themselves) and a water canteen into which he had decanted some local red wine. He told her his army knife would suffice to cut anything she wanted, but in truth there was nothing else in the world she felt she needed. It was all right there in front of her, but most of all, she knew it was Roland whom she needed and he was here with her to share this impromptu feast.

She was acutely aware of his touch as he held her hand to help her sit down on the blanket. She bent her legs to the side and steadied herself with her left hand, whilst arranging and smoothing her skirt with her right. Those few seconds were enough to allow Grace to steady her emotions and recover her equilibrium.

"Thank you, Roland; this is wonderful and so kind of you."

"So are you, Grace. You've been wonderful to me and you are kind, too," he replied with a smile.

"It has never been a kindness, Roland. Being with you has been what I wanted to do."

So saying, Grace felt herself blush for the second time that evening and hid her momentary awkwardness by asking if he would cut her some cheese; the bread they could tear. He sliced some of the cheese, passed her some bread and as their fingers brushed against each other, their eyes met for a split second, before both hastily looked down at their food.

As they ate, they spoke of their shared love of music and Roland told Grace that he was convinced that he had hit upon something valuable in treating poor Prentiss. He wanted to explore it more, but his superiors thought it an inappropriate use of his time.

"Roland, we could still use music as an aid to recovery; there's no reason why not," Grace encouragingly said.

"Would you help me? I know it's unconventional, but I really think there is some point in it."

"Of course, I will. What is so unconventional about it anyway? My mother had a beautiful voice and she taught me to sing from very young. I was never as good as she was, but when my father's moods were dark, which they often were, she would take me to sing to him. It was one of the few things which seemed to bring him pleasure. Even after my mother died, he still liked to listen to me sing."

"I didn't know you sang, Grace."

"There are lots of things you don't know about me, Roland, but I'll tell you all about them one day," Grace responded with a smile.

"I want to know everything about you," he replied, looking at her intently. "What do you like to sing and why didn't you join in with the VADs concert?"

"This isn't really the right environment for the things I was taught to sing. My mother had classical tastes and German lieder might not go down too well. I would hate to stop your work in its tracks," she smilingly said.

"Sing to me, Grace."

"Someone might hear, Roland."

"Nonsense, we're far away from the hospital and the tide is coming in, but don't worry, we're safe here. No one will hear except me. Please, I should love to hear you sing."

"I'll only sing quietly and I'm not even sure I can remember the words," she replied.

Grace looked up to the sky, which was now set with tiny points of light as the stars had come up, and then softly started to sing the words to Schumann's "Widmung". It was one of Grace's favourite songs. The melody was beautiful, but the words were so passionate and moving, too. As she sang, she became lost in the music and what the song was trying to express. More and more she forgot herself and sang, for Roland, words which spoke of intense love and longing, thinking that she was safely hidden behind the native language of the poetry itself. Roland never took his eyes from her; she was more beautiful to him now than she had ever been. When her rich mezzo-soprano voice reached the climax of the piece, he felt as if his heart would burst, for he knew this song as well as she did. As she finished and looked down at her hands, he slowly said:

"You my soul, you my heart;  
you my bliss, oh, you, my pain;  
you the world in which I live;  
you my heaven, in which I float,  
oh, you, my grave, into which  
I eternally cast my grief. 

You are rest, you are peace,  
you are bestowed upon me from heaven.  
That you love me makes me worthy of you;  
your gaze transfigures me;  
you raise me lovingly above myself,  
my good spirit, my better self!"

Grace raised her eyes to meet his gaze, unwaveringly, and acknowledged his words with a self-conscious smile before saying, "You know the words."

"Yes, I know them, Grace. "Widmung" is one of the most profound statements of love between a man and a woman, which any composer has ever set to music. Schumann wrote it for the woman he loved, didn't he? And you sang it beautifully for me."

Roland reflected her gaze with an intensity which was overpowering. The moon had come up, but its light was gentle and Grace was grateful for the semi-darkness, which hid her trembling hands.

"Yes, he did, but I think it's a song which suits any singer, irrespective of their sex. May I have a little wine, please, Roland?"

"Of course," he said passing the canteen to her. "Promise me you will sing to me again. You have a beautiful voice and I shall never tire of hearing it."

"If you insist, I shall conquer my nerves again…one day," Grace replied, trying to make light of a situation, which was threatening to make her emotions run out of control.

They shared the canteen of wine and, although she consumed only a small quantity, she quickly felt its treacherous warmth fill her stomach and then advance to her limbs. She stretched her legs, which were a little stiff after a long day's work in the hospital, and sighed as she felt her muscles stretch and relax.

Roland sensing her lassitude said, "Lie down, if you want to, Grace. You can rest your head on my lap."

She turned towards him and said smiling, "If I lie down, I might not want to get up."

With that, emboldened by the wine, she rose to her knees and added, "Thank you for this, Roland. It's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me." She moved her hand to rest on his upper arm, but he caught it before it reached its target and raised it to his lips, kissing it reverently.

"Grace, you know that I would do anything for you."

He raised his eyes to hers, turning her palm upwards to plant another kiss upon its inner surface, all the time maintaining his gaze on hers. He moved his lips to plant a further kiss on her wrist and that was her undoing. Her breathing became uneven as her heart hammered out a beat, which thundered in her ears, and she felt her knees give way. She fell towards him and he caught and drew her to him.


	4. Chapter 4

_Once again, thank you for the lovely things, which you have written about this story. I hope you will enjoy this chapter, too. We've finally reached letter "M". _

CHAPTER 4

Enfolded in his arms, Grace felt safer than she had ever done which, given that they lay within striking distance of the intense fighting at the Western Front, seemed ridiculous to the only part of her brain still capable of logical thought. She looked up at him through lids grown heavy with passion and he bent his head to claim her mouth, taking possession of her and kissing her until she felt she no longer had an identity separate from his. Her emotional response was immediate and honest. She loved him and the intimacy of this moment had freed her from the last constraints, which had held her back. Roland's kisses became more intense and his lips seared a path downwards from her mouth, nuzzling her neck, his fingers freeing her from the starched nurse's collar, so that the pulse at the base of her throat was clearly visible to him, signalling her excitement and need for him. He held her in his arms, her head resting against him, and he gently eased the pins from her head-dress and the coiled bun at the nape of her neck, so that her hair spilled free and rippled across his sleeve to the blanket beneath them.

It was at that moment that she tore her mouth away from his long enough to ask,

"Is this what you really want, Roland? Am I what you want because I cannot start this, if it's to last just a night? I love you too much for that. It would kill me if I lost you."

Her eyes glittered in the velvet darkness of the night. The enormity of her admission was not lost on him and he rejoiced inwardly that she felt as she did.

"Oh my darling, how could you believe that any man would not want you for the rest of his life, let alone this man, who already loves you to the edge of reason? If I've learnt anything over the last two years, especially this past year, it is that I have to embrace what is true and nurture it. My life was empty, but you have changed that. I want you forever and somehow I shall have you forever. I can no more live without you, than you say you can, without me."

Grace's heart soared at the sincerity and beauty of his answer and she reached up for him, pulling him down to her, eyes darkened by desire, moaning her acquiescence into his mouth, as he brought her body increasingly to the point where she would no longer be able to deny him anything.

His hands moulded her to him, travelling a path she had forgotten existed, but awakening in her a response unlike anything she had known before. He eased her dress from her shoulders and she shivered in the cool evening air for a second until he covered her with his body; his mouth and hands coaxing her breasts to spill from her corset, which he deftly unhooked with care. He nuzzled against her breasts; she felt his mouth clamp onto one, and then the other, as he suckled and lapped at her, gently kneading the soft flesh, causing tremors of pleasure throughout her body. Grace could not believe that this was the same man, who had walked with her this evening. They had always been close friends, but nothing had prepared her for the intensity of the transition from friends to lovers.

His lovemaking was the stuff of dreams, taking her higher with him on a journey, which she knew had only one end point, but which was also a beginning. His gentleness meshed with a passion, which she mirrored, and she could only marvel at the restraint he showed in ensuring her pleasure before his own. Every kiss, every stroke, every ounce of pressure was designed to give her the maximum delight in these earliest moments of a shared love and surrender to each other.

She helped him to unhook the waistband of her skirt and wriggled on the blanket so that he could remove it and her undergarments. Then she turned to him and smoothed her hands across his chest. She unknotted his tie and eased the buttons of his shirt free from their material restraints, finally pulling the shirt free from his trousers. Grace pressed herself against him and ran her hands around his waist to stroke and caress his bare flesh, relishing his warmth and the firmness of the layers of muscle beneath her fingers. She bent her head and gently kissed his chest, her blonde hair tumbling about her face and brushing against him, as she did so. His breath came in a gasp and she realised the effect she was having on him. He cupped her jaw and raising her face to his, he passionately kissed her. She returned his kiss in equal measure, each stoking the fire within the other to a pitch neither could withstand for much longer.

The image of this pale, slim beauty, winding herself around him, to the accompanying sound of the waves breaking in the distance, was not lost on Roland. Her body swam beneath him like a sea nymph, a Nereid, but he knew that she was more siren, than nymph, for she had beguiled him through her song. Yet he knew that was not true either, even as the thought formed and flitted across his consciousness. There was nothing calculating about Grace. She had quite unknowingly captured his heart two years before, when she had met him on her first day at the hospital, and he recognised that he had desired her from that moment onwards. He would tell her about it one day soon.

For now, he would imprint every part of her on his mind, for in his eyes she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her skin & hair shone in the moonlight as if she had bathed in platinum. He was overwhelmed and, as she lay with him, he knew with total certainty that she was the only woman for him. No one else had ever meant what she did, certainly not his wife, for Grace was more truly his wife in spirit and in his heart. He felt a surge of animal passion, driving him on to make her his, in the fullest sense of those words.

Grace, too, seemed swept along by a passion deep within, which rendered her languid & sensual. She had dreamt of him making love to her & quite how they had come to this point was beyond her ability to grasp, but she knew she was his. She wanted to touch Roland, to feel his body cloak her &, finally, to enter her & merge his flesh with hers. There would be no taking, for she wanted to give. His mouth covered hers again and she moaned into him, body undulating & urging him to explore.

Any residual shyness, which Grace might have felt at this sudden shift in their relationship, disappeared before hands which roamed the landscape of her body, arousing her to a point where she no longer felt in control of her responses. Her senses were full of him, as she touched him, increasingly emboldened by her need to be one with him. She pressed her breasts upwards as his mouth once more captured first one, and then the other, rosy peak, teasing them to stiffened points beneath lips, which seemed designed for her pleasure. His fingers trailed downwards & met the gentle rise of her femininity with infinite skill. She shook with pleasure as she floated on the sensations he evoked in her**.**

Kiss merged with kiss until they had to break apart to take breath, but their eyes remained locked on each other, mirroring an intensity of feeling and need, which threatened to consume them both in its heat. Grace no longer cared for propriety, so great was her need to be one with Roland. She moaned as he touched her in a way which left her aching for completion, and she clung to him as his fingers took her, tremblingly, beyond that point. And yet, even as she cried his name, her hands reached for him, desperate to free him from the last vestiges of his uniform, to pull him into her. Roland had never felt such desire, as he felt now, for the woman he held in his arms, whose love for him was palpable as he caressed and kissed her body, dampened from the heat of the passionate response he had evoked in her.

As much as he stopped her mouth with kisses, she returned them, surrendering to him with nothing kept in reserve. His entire life, he had wondered if he would ever find his soul-mate, a partner who would return his love in equal measure and would free the passionate nature, which he knew he possessed, beneath the calm exterior, which he showed to the world. He had found her in Grace and he had come home. Grace's hands rested on his hips and she gently eased herself closer to him. His need for her was all-consuming and he knew that he would not last much longer. He needed her and she shared his need, parting her legs and gently drawing him to her. He had never felt more of a man as he slid effortlessly into the woman he loved and saw her eyes widen and flicker with the pure pleasure he gave her. He immediately stilled, giving her a moment to adjust to him, but she smiled at him and pulled him down to her, so that she could kiss him, breathing his name into his mouth, sharing his breath and meeting each movement, like for like.

Roland felt the pressure build inside, but he wanted Grace to crest this peak with him. Her head was thrown back, exposing her throat, which he kissed, careful even now, to not mark her anywhere visible to others. He would not share this precious moment with anyone but Grace. His thrusts made her gasp, inarticulate cries from deep within and, when he slid his fingers between them to caress her again, he felt her body tremble, and then a warm tightness clasping him and urging him deeper. She suddenly cried out his name, for the second time that evening. He felt her body pulsate and her legs lock about him, as he drove on to his climax a mere split second later, rising above her, before seizing her to him, as her name was torn from him by the fierceness of his passion. He covered her with his body, spent for the moment, and she held him to her, whispering words of love.


	5. Chapter 5

_I hope this won't be an anti-climax, after the events of the last chapter. The BBC, in one of its least comprehensible and commercially aware decisions, announced yesterday, the 70__th__ anniversary of the D-Day landings, that it is not re-commissioning "The Crimson Field", and so all we'll have, to keep these wonderful characters alive, are the stories, which we share. I'm sure we can do a better job than the Beeb! As always, your reviews are supremely encouraging and very much appreciated. _

CHAPTER 5

They lay together, as their breathing returned to normal, holding and stroking one another, with a gentle familiarity, which belied the newness of their situation, but made it appear as if they had made love all their lives. Their commitment shone from their eyes, reassuring each other that this was real and that what they had just done was truly the expression of a deep love and longing. Roland pulled Grace closer into his embrace, tilting her face up to kiss her lips with infinite gentleness, each caress an exquisite reinforcement of his love for her. In truth, he adored her; no one had ever before made him respond as he had just done. Grace reached up and drew his head down to her breast. She cradled it and brushed her lips against his hair, filled with such tenderness for this man, whom she loved with her heart and soul. She had never felt like this before, not even with Amar.

Roland raised his head to look at her and was moved when he saw the expression of wonderment on her face, as she traced the line of his cheekbone with her fingers. He lightly stroked her hair, which framed her face in the palest of waves in the moonlight, and said,

"Grace, my own darling; I now know what it is like to make love to a woman." She quizzically looked at him and he continued, "Oh, yes, I have done my duty and fathered two children but, before tonight, I never knew what it was to make love; to desire, without any reservation, a level of physical and emotional connection, which I have only ever been able to imagine. Making love with you is beyond my most fevered imagining, Grace."

She held him so close, as if her very life depended on it. She felt as if her heart would burst and replied,

"I thought I had made love before; I would never have slept with Amar if I had not believed that I loved him, and I did; but I realise that it was a pale imitation of what I have felt with you."

"Shhhh. There is no need to explain," he said touching her lips softly with his finger.

"No, Roland; let me. I want to; I need to explain, so that you will always know what tonight has meant. Your love is like the sun to me, Roland, and having known what it is to feel the sun on my skin, I can no longer live or feel warmth without it. What I had before was beautiful, like the sharp, crescent light of a new moon, but it did not make me burn with its intensity or long to bask in its glow, as your love does." Grace raised her mouth to his and passionately kissed him. It was the only response she felt would in any way show him the reality of her feelings for him.

His body reacted and the familiar sensation of arousal began once more, but he knew that time was against them.

"Sweetheart, see what you do to me?" He pressed his hips against her stomach and she felt it, too.

"I'm not sorry," Grace said, her forehead pressed against his and smiling against his mouth.

"Well, I am," he countered "because we need to return or we shall be missed, which leaves me with a problem doesn't it?"

"It leaves us both with a problem, my love." Grace moved against him, letting him know how much she wanted him, but recognising that they would have to wait.

He pulled her to him, into a tight embrace, conveying his utter desire for her in its closeness.

"It won't be long till next time, I promise you. I love you so much, Grace."

"And I love you. I just want to remember every single moment of this time with you because tonight I started to live and to love again." Her voice faltered as she made her declaration of love and he kissed her eyelids, cheeks and lips, cherishing her words deep in his heart.

"Come, my darling, we need to dress and return."

Her face registered her distress at the prospect of returning to the hospital signalling, as it did, the end of their evening together. He saw her eyes fill with tears and it broke him.

"We shall be together, Grace; have no doubts about that. This is our beginning. Do you think it is any easier for me to walk away from this small taste of heaven and return to that hell on earth? Believe me, it is the last thing I want to do. I want to lie here, wrapped in this blanket with you, the sound of the sea in the background, our arms around each other and the universe surrounding us. I want your face to be the last thing I see at night and the first thing I see in the morning."

"I believe you; I just don't want this to end. These past hours have been the happiest moments of my life, but I don't know what lies ahead." She turned and hid her face against his shoulder, tightly holding on to him, her one source of solace and comfort, as she faced the return to the order and duty of being a military nurse, which had, up until this evening, been her safety net against the emotional turbulence of life.

He cupped her chin, stroking her mouth with his thumb and whispered, "None of us do, my love, but we shall be together every day for the rest of our lives. This I swear to you, Grace. Somehow I shall make it happen." He kissed away her tears with the newfound confidence of a man, who knows that he is loved. She looked up at him and then took his hand and held it against her cheek, turning her face to kiss it. He gently moved it and placed it over her heart, bending his head as he did so, to kiss the place between her breasts where his head had so recently rested.

"Come on, my angel." Roland got up and reached for his shirt and Grace's corset and underclothes. He held out his hand and eased Grace back onto her feet. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to be helping her like this.

"Let me," she said reaching for his shirt and slowly buttoning it; her slim fingers relishing the contact with the warmth of his skin. As she finished, she slid her arms around him, caressing his back and moving down to stroke the gentle curve of his buttocks, pulling him towards her once more. His moan of pleasure was too much for her and she raised her face to him, inviting his kiss, which was not long in coming. As her mouth opened beneath his, their tongues meshed and he could no longer restrain his emotions. Their good intentions came to nothing as they sank back down onto the blanket. Kneeling before each other, their mutual need for fulfilment swept all before it, as they gave one another the release they sought, tending with hands and mouths until the point when coherent thought became impossible.

She stroked his face and neck, and nuzzled his ear, sucking the lobe and gently nipping it. "I adore you, my love", she murmured.

"As I do you", was his immediate response.

"I suppose we have to go", she sighed.

He smiled, nodded his head and kissed her.

They dressed quietly and quickly, and packed up their few possessions in the canvas bag. They stood together, facing each other, fingers entwined, and moved as one into an embrace of the most exquisite tenderness amid the dunes, bathed in the pale silvery light of the moon. Kiss after kiss was shared by these two, so recently united in love, and then, reluctantly Roland picked up the bag and they walked, arms about each other, back towards the hospital.

"We shall come back here, my love, but I have to find ways for us to be together, apart from this. I want you so much, it is almost unbearable", he said to her. Grace rejoiced in his love and knew that this was the most important relationship of her life. If she lost him, she would not be able to go on, as she had before. He was everything to her and she held him closer as they walked along the sand, to the sound of the sea, quieter now as the tide retreated. One evening had altered their lives inexorably and she was glad of it. She was his now, in every way possible, except in the eyes of the law, but she did not care one jot about that, as long as they could be together, and he had said they would be.

"Roland, stop a minute."

He turned to her, "Are you alright?"

"Oh dear God, yes, I am alright. I want you to know, before we go back in there that you complete me in every way it is possible to do. You're my life, you're my love and everything I have and I am, I give to you."

Roland gripped her to him and kissed her with every iota of feeling he possessed. He had never experienced such love and, now that he had, he would never give it up, for anyone or anything.

"Did that tell you what I feel, Grace?" he whispered to her.

She nodded, unable to speak through the emotional onslaught he had wrought in her, but her eyes told him everything he needed to know. They could see the low lights of the hospital ahead of them and walked hand in hand whilst it was still safe to do so. At the edge of the forest, they entered one behind the other and silently walked to the point where they would have to part. One last squeeze of their hands and they were gone; each quietly entering their respective sleeping quarters a minute or so later, the events on the beach lovingly and securely locked away in their memories, but their bodies deliciously alive and still joyously resonating from their passionate encounter. Sleep would evade them both, as their minds sought each other in the darkness, the imprint of their newly confessed love indelibly stamped upon each.


	6. Chapter 6

_Once more, I find myself saying a heartfelt "Thank You" for your words of encouragement in your reviews. It is wonderful to receive them. I hope that you will continue to enjoy reading this, as much as I am enjoying writing it._

CHAPTER 6

All night, Grace lay in her tent, gazing silently at the canvas above her. Beneath her sheet, she wrapped her arms about herself on the narrow, uncomfortable army issue bed, and imagined that she was in Roland's embrace. The more she thought of him, the more she burned with a desire so fierce it was beyond reason. She ran her hands down her body, smiling at the memory of his touch, as she did so. Her mind was a jumble of images, words and feelings, but, through it all, she felt a curious sense of anticipation and gradually realised that what she was experiencing was excitement, at the prospect of seeing Roland again, and a real sense of joy.

She knew sleep would not come and rose quietly to wash and prepare for the day. One glance in the mirror showed her to be seemingly transformed overnight; she saw a woman in love. Her skin seemed to glow, with an inner radiance, in the barely present light of the new day; her body bore the marks of his hunger for her and she was glad of it; her lips seemed ruddier and her hair gleamed. She knew she looked softer, almost beautiful, but she could not accept that this was her. "You're seeing yourself as he sees you," she thought, knowing as she thought it, that she was wrong. She was different; she was fulfilled and happy.

Grace picked a fresh grey cotton uniform from her chest and started to get dressed. Before discarding yesterday's garments for washing, she sat on her bed and held them to her, burying her face in them and breathing deeply the scent of the sea and of him. Grace was transported beyond her tent and could once more feel she was lying in the dunes under the moon with Roland. That they were lovers seemed to her the stuff of which dreams were made, but it was real, and she wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him in validation of the reality of their love. Instead she would have to walk sedately to the main hospital offices and greet him as formally as she could. She wanted to scream with frustration, but she would get used to it, she supposed.

Across the camp, Roland had paced about his office, for what seemed an eternity, before retiring to his bed. He felt as if he was twenty years younger; totally energised, so revitalised that sleep was impossible. His mind was still back on the beach, reliving the moment when he had made Grace his own and they had reached a level of mutual completion and fulfilment that had transformed their lives. He no longer felt alone in this world; he felt joined to Grace, who loved him as much as he loved her. As he thought of her, desire coursed through his body and, despite his best efforts at self-control, he hardened. It would have been so easy to deal with the evidence of his need for Grace, but he wanted to seek satisfaction by placing himself in her hands, not his.

The time passed so slowly and he felt as if morning would never come, bringing with it the opportunity to be with his beloved Grace. Roland wondered if she missed him as he missed her. She had lodged her presence deep within his heart and he never wanted to be without her again. Roland could still smell Grace on his body. The knowledge that she was entirely his, that her capitulation had been utterly without reservation, empowered him. He had never thought to capture Grace's heart, nor in the process, for his to be captured so completely. They were truly, joyously lost in each other.

He rose from his bed early and started his morning ablutions. As he looked in the mirror to shave, he saw the marks of Grace's nails on his shoulders and recalled her cry of release, as he had brought her to a climax, and he exulted in the knowledge that she was his and that he could make her feel such exquisite pleasure. This was no dream. He finished dressing and waited patiently, for in his heart he knew she would come to him early.

Shortly afterwards, there was a gentle knock at the door and Grace entered the room.

"I know I'm earlier than normal. May I come in, Roland?" she asked.

"Of course, my love." She closed the door behind her and smiled at him. He wonderingly looked at her, as if for the first time, absorbing every detail of her face and frame. His hand moved over her hair, soft as silk, as he gazed at eyes, which shone, and lips, which parted slightly to reveal their moist fullness.

"I couldn't sleep for thinking of you; of us," she said.

"My darling, I know. All I can see when I close my eyes is your face," he replied, looking deep into her eyes.

"Oh Roland, I want you so much. I couldn't sleep because my body ached for your touch. I have never felt such a need before. It's like I'm living the words I sang yesterday. It is the sweetest pain I could ever imagine."

"Sweetheart, you don't have to explain. It is the same for me. In you I feel I have come home and that you are my safe haven in the midst of this carnage. With your arms round me, I feel everything is possible. My spirit has longed for you, Grace, and having found you, I shall never let you go."

So saying he took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it, pulling her gently to him. She rested her head on his chest, her hand still resting against his mouth as he nuzzled it. He kissed the top of her head and then, tipping her face up to his, captured her mouth with every ounce of passion in him. Grace felt her legs weaken and she clung to him all the harder, desperately returning his kiss so he was in no doubt at all of her need for him. It took all their effort to break apart and Grace smoothed the fabric of her apron and skirt, smiling up at her lover as she did so.

"How am I going to keep these feelings hidden?" he asked

"We have to, Roland, or they'll separate us and I couldn't bear that."

"They'll not split us, Grace; I simply can't do without you. I'd give up everything for you."

"I can't let you lose your career, Roland. If one of us has to give up anything, it will be me. But one day, this war will end and I fear that when that happens, we won't be with each other as we are now."

"My darling, we will be together. I cannot exist without you. I have to be with you, Grace, whatever it takes."

"Roland, my love, I would give up whatever I have to be with you, but I do not ask that of you."

"My marriage is a husk, dried out and empty; it always was. Grace, I want to live with you; sweetheart, your love is as essential to me as the very air, which I breathe. "

So saying, he pulled her to him once more and she did not resist as he kissed her, for she wanted him fully as much as he wanted her. She could feel their bodies respond to each other, but now was not the time, even as she felt his passion rise. She stroked his face, whispering words of love and longing to him, but tempering them with the good sense, which they both knew they had to cling to, in keeping this love from prying eyes.

"I'll be here tonight, Roland, the same as I always am. No one will question that and we can be together without fear of discovery."

"I know, my love, I know; I just want you so badly that I shall be wishing away my time till tonight."

"And I want you. It is hard for me, too, but we have no choice."

He pulled out his chair and seated her at the desk, so that she could check the rotas and screen the outgoing post before it left, while he went to make them both tea. He looked at her and felt overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings. She looked so slight and fragile sitting upright at his desk, but she was every bit as brave as the soldiers, whom they treated, and her love was as deep as the sea and as true as his own. All his life he had wanted a partner with whom he could share the things he cared about. In Grace he had found that partner. Her care for her charges in the hospital tent mirrored his own; her frustration with the tension between healing and sending them back to the fighting was the same as his and her protective position and sense of responsibility as regards her own staff was a further area of alignment.

He carried back their tea in the two china cups he had set aside for the purpose; they seemed incongruous in the rough wooden office around them. Two tiny delicate pieces of china, which could so easily be broken, but he would look after them and treat them with infinite care, in the same way that he promised he would take care of Grace. He found himself making plans for the future. He would divorce; of that there now was no question in his mind. Hetty could pursue her officer with impunity and he would be free to marry Grace and to live the life, which he wanted; where he could invest time in his chosen area of mending the broken minds, which he increasingly saw in the men, who were brought to the hospital from the front line medical facilities. So many deep thoughts in the few paces between the kettle and his desk. He placed Grace's cup in front of her and rested his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. She looked up at him and pressed her lips to his hand, smiling gently at him. He caressed her cheek and then moved away.

Grace, too, had been staring at the rotas she had constructed, but without making any sense of the names and times in front of her. Her mind was elsewhere, on Roland as, like him, she thought of a future which for the first time seemed ripe with promise. If the war ended soon, they could go home and he had said they would be together. From any other man, she might have treated those words with a pinch of salt, but Roland had meant them. His nature was not superficial; he was a man of honour, no matter that his marital status might suggest otherwise to those who did not know the truth. If he said something, he truly felt it. He would deal with the obstacles. She hated thinking of his wife like that, as an obstacle, but from the things he had shared with her, she knew that Hetty was a wife to Roland in name only. There had never been an emotional connection such as she and Roland experienced and she knew with certainty that, God willing, they would be together. The thought filled her with inexpressible joy, as she let her imagination run riot, picturing them sharing all the little moments lovers so often took for granted. Just to wake next to him, to call out his name, to sit in the garden with him, to keep his house for him and, perhaps one day, to have a child with him, would be an answer to her prayers.

His hand on her shoulder roused her from her reverie and, as she looked into his eyes, she felt overwhelmed by a love which had captured her soul and carried her high above the vicissitudes of her daily life. She had total faith in him, knew without a word being said that he felt the same about her, and that knowledge filled her with courage and hope.

Around them, the daily rhythm of the hospital had commenced. Footsteps on the raised wooden walkways above the now sun-baked, churned up mud, heralded the beginning of the shift changes on the wards. She had to leave to check that all was in order and she would do her rounds later than morning.

"Roland, I must go, my love. I'll return later, if you like."

He moved across to take her hand and held it for a few seconds and said, "I love you." It was so simple a statement, but yesterday it would have seemed inconceivable that he could have said it openly to her and with the events of the previous night wound about every word, giving them weight and depth beyond anything either had thought possible. She turned and pressed his hand against her, his fingers on her hip brushed lightly across the seat of her femininity, and he looked deeply into her eyes and knew that tonight they would be together again. It took all Grace's resolve to leave the room. Her response to his touch had been immediate, as shivers of pleasure ran through her. She pushed such thoughts as far from her mind as she could and made her way out to the main hospital tent to inspect her patients and staff, conscious that nothing about her must seem any different to the staff. She forced her shoulders back and walked purposefully towards the main ward as if nothing had changed; only she knew that everything about her life had altered for ever.


	7. Chapter 7

_Your kind reviews are so much appreciated and I am really happy that you are enjoying the story. _

CHAPTER 7

Everyone was where they should be and it seemed that last night had passed without major incident. The patients appeared to be comfortable in the main, although one of the amputees, Corporal Simmonds, was a cause for concern; not for any physical reason, but by virtue of his complete withdrawal from those around him. It was tragic to see previously fit young men with their lives altered forever by an enemy bullet or shell. It was not simply the physical impact though; the emotional devastation and financial consequences, which invalidity brought in its wake, affecting both the patient, their prospects and those whom they loved, had the potential to destroy innocent lives well beyond the battlefield. Cases like Simmonds' were of particular interest to Roland and so Grace made a mental note to review his notes. As she walked through the tent, she spotted that one of the newer arrivals, Private Jones, appeared to be losing his pillows to the force of gravity.

"Trevelyan, adjust that patient's pillows. He is almost sliding off them. They're of no possible use to him on the floor."

"Yes, Matron," the young VAD replied.

Instantly, the task was completed. Grace nodded at Trevelyan, silently acknowledging her compliance, which would have been in doubt when she first arrived. Grace had, however, sensed something underlying the young woman's attitude and had been proved right. Her sensitive handling of Trevelyan's personal situation had won her the grudging respect of the VAD, whom Grace recognised had much to give to the patients. The others, too, had all come along in their own ways, but they still had much to learn, although Grace gave them credit not just for volunteering, but for staying, where many would not have done so. This was not a glamorous calling for a woman: filth, disease and injuries, by which many trained nurses at home would have been challenged. The lives of the VADs were as much held captive by this conflict, as her own, but they coped with the privations with few complaints. For that, and many other reasons, they had her admiration, although they might not realise it.

As she walked through the tent checking the men, she wished sometimes that the nursing staff could see that she was as much a woman as they were and that she, too, had hopes and dreams, but she knew that to maintain order and discipline, to help the men in her care, sacrifices had to be made and she made those willingly. Personal popularity had never been as important to her as her nursing vocation, but now something else was. Grace recognised with total clarity that the only thing she would never give up was her love for Roland and her place by his side. If the circumstances of this conflict forced them apart, she would never stop loving or waiting for him. She involuntarily shivered at the thought. Once satisfied that all was in order, Grace gave orders for the men to receive their breakfasts. For some this was a simple mouthful or two of porridge, for others appetites were a little healthier. It pained her to think that most were being nursed back to health just to be sent back to the fighting. It ran counter to everything she was trained to do and yet she must comply.

"Please God, keep Roland safe," she silently prayed, "Don't send him away from here, please."

She sat with one of the men, who was rambling incoherently, and taking a clean cloth and bowl of water, she gently sponged his face, which was shining with perspiration. The sour smell of sweat was on his pyjamas, too, and she called over young Flora Marshall and ordered a change of linen and a bed-bath.

"Yes, Matron. I'll just finish tidying up the…."

"No, Marshall; now, not later. What is more important to our patients, a neat stack of bandages or being clean and comfortable."

"Sorry, Matron; of course."

"And when you've finished here, start the general changing prior to the surgical team's ward round at 11am."

"Yes, Matron."

"I need hardly add that I expect all the beds to be made properly in line with nursing regulations."

"No, Matron; of course, Matron."

There were times when Grace felt a little mean towards Flora Marshall, but the girl had the ability and desire to be an excellent nurse. Grace saw potential in her, which was why she tended to issue far more exacting instructions for Marshall than the others; that and the fact that she was still very young and, as was often the case, a little immature. Still, the girl had ability and she was tenacious, meeting all demands made of her with as pleasant a demeanour as was possible. Yes, thought Grace, she had potential.

A visit to the linen store revealed that all was in order, thanks to her nurses' efforts. She was pleased about that because clean linen was in such short supply and they had worked hard to mend whatever they could. Next on the agenda, she would visit the pharmacy, to check on stock levels, and then return to her office, for a short while, prior to the rounds. As she crossed the compound from the linen store to the pharmacy, she glanced in the direction of Roland's office, but did not see him. She checked the pharmacy books, containing the details of all items, which had been prescribed by the medical team, and indicated to the nurse in charge, which needed re-stocking, via an order placed through the main stores.

Grace disliked Soper, the quartermaster. He was a deceitful little man, who would undermine her as soon as look at her. She was under no illusions on that score. He had openly rooted for Margaret Quayle prior to Roland's appointment of Grace as Matron. No doubt Soper had an ulterior motive. Margaret was often seen frequenting his stores on some plausible pretext or other, but Grace did not trust them. She certainly did not trust Margaret after her suspicions about the Blighty ticket had proved right. The woman never did anything out of goodness or kindness; there was always an edge. Grace knew she would have to remain alert to the threat posed to Roland and her from Sister Quayle and her hanger on. She knew Roland shared her concerns and forewarned was forearmed.

"Matron?" Grace turned and saw one of the other VADs behind her.

"Begging your pardon, Matron, Colonel Brett asks if you could please come to the office when you are free."

Feeling her stomach turn somersaults, Grace remained the picture of professionalism and replied, "Of course, Andrews. Please tell the Colonel that I shall do so in due course."

Grace turned back to the pharmacy books and, after a few minutes, she left and went to her office, where the paperwork for the day was already piling up in her basket. She was able to quickly deal with most of the standard elements, but when she saw the notification of death for two of their former patients, she knew she had to take her time to write to the next of kin, whose loved ones had made the ultimate sacrifice. Grace's pen traced the familiar words of comfort and re-assurance that there had been no suffering, even though she knew differently, in both cases. Both men had died painfully, despite the administration of morphine. The absence of medication to deal with the injuries, which they saw on a daily basis was frustrating and upsetting. Basic penicillin was all she had to counter the toxic infections, which even the nurses were in danger of contracting. Only last week, one of the VADs had needed antibiotic to fight an infection which had taken hold following a minor abrasion to her hand. The sepsis in this place was a danger to both patients and nursing staff alike. She knew Roland shared her concerns and that they were fighting to highlight the dangers to those above their respective levels. Grace signed and addressed the letter and placed her pen to one side.

She needed to see Roland, but she must behave as usual in case others noticed anything. So thinking, she rose from her desk and left the room, heading for his office with a resolute spirit. She knocked on the door and heard his voice say, "Enter". She opened the door and stood framed by it saying,

"I've had your request to meet, Colonel, but I must be present for the ward round at 11am."

Roland looked somewhat surprised by the formality of her tone, but he followed her lead on this, and replied, "Certainly, Matron; I quite understand. It will keep until you have finished. Perhaps we could discuss matters at lunchtime, if you are able?"

"That would be much easier; thank you." Grace turned and thanked God for her caution as she saw, from the corner of her eye, a flash of khaki from behind the office's front edge. Soper had been en route to the stores and, seeing her framed in the open door, had clearly stopped to see what was going on. She knew that they would have to be careful.

Grace made the short walk to the main tent, her heels tapping on the wooden walkway, and met with Captain Gillan, who had arrived to check on the status of the patients. He was a pleasant young man who clearly wanted advancement in techniques for these men as much as she and Roland did. The amputations pained him for the devastation they left behind and the impact on the lives of the men. Grace dreaded the advance of gangrene, which could kill a man in days. What choice did they have, though, but to amputate? It was an awful decision for these young men to make. She listened carefully to the instructions given for each patient, ensuring that they were recorded, with any additional needs or information, on the patients' notes and that the nursing staff updated. Soon the rounds were over and she made her way back to Roland's office, having washed her hands and face to rid herself of any vestiges of infection or dirt. She had to stop herself from running; something she never did, but, on this occasion, she would have run to the ends of the earth, if it would have brought her to him any faster.

She arrived at the office, heart pounding with excitement, knocked on the door and entered.


	8. Chapter 8

_A busy weekend beckons, so I am posting the next two chapters because I shall not be able to post again until Monday. I hope you enjoy them and will find the time to review the latest additions. _

CHAPTER 8

Roland had had soup and sandwiches brought for them, rightly thinking that Grace would not want anything cooked, and the tea was already steeping in the pot.

As she came in, he turned round at his desk, saw it was her and got up.

"Ah, Matron, come in. I've been wanting to speak to you about Gillan's work with the Carrel-Dakin system. How is it progressing?"

Her heart fell, as she realised Roland's request for her to come to the office was work based, but then he smiled and moved towards her. Bending down he whispered in her ear,

"I've got to make this seem legitimate, sweetheart; in this place, walls may very well have ears."

"Of course, Colonel," she formally replied.

"Do sit down, Matron," he said with equal formality, as he gestured to one of two armchairs, adjacent to each other, at one end of the office, away from the windows onto the compound. He followed her across holding some papers in his hand and, leaning down as if to show them to her, he kissed her hair, where it remained free of her head-dress & whispered, "I want you, my angel." Her body's reaction was swifter than her conscious thought process, as she felt the instant wave of anticipation sweep across her. She scarcely had time to process this, when he followed up in a louder voice with,

"I've had some soup and sandwiches brought in, so that we can eat and work at the same time." So saying, he brought the tray across and offered her something to eat, again whispering, "I love you, my darling."

Grace's body ached for his touch; and as she took a sandwich, she deliberately grazed his fingers with hers and looked deep into his eyes, summoning every iota of love in her to quietly say, her voice shaking with passion, "My love, I am yours alone. You are my love and my life."

It was enough for them, it had to be, and he sat down next to her and asked after the patients and any concerns she might have. They talked about the men and about surgical intervention and then Roland said that he would visit the ward later that afternoon. In truth, he would have walked over broken glass to be at her side, if the opportunity arose. He squeezed her hand, where it rested in her lap, and that momentary contact of his hand against her thighs, was enough to make her eyes darken with passion. The intensity of her reaction did not escape his notice and he pressed his hand against her, drawing a gasp in response.

"Oh, Roland, I want you so, but this is torture."

"I'm sorry, my darling, that was selfish of me. I want to touch you more than you could ever imagine; forgive me." He looked directly at her, his hunger shining from his eyes.

"There is nothing to forgive; I want you to touch me, too, and I confess I didn't want you to stop."

"Tonight, my love, tonight we shall be together and I shall do whatever you ask of me. Promise you won't be late."

"I promise. I want nothing but to be with you."

He glanced round in the direction of the door and, seeing no one near, he bent forward and gently brushed her lips with his, caressing her cheek with infinite tenderness.

"That will have to sustain us until later, but I shall come to the ward mid-afternoon. Be there at 3pm and at least we shall be with each other for a while. Tonight, I shall do better, my love."

Grace rose from the armchair and raised her eyes to look at him saying, "I am hopelessly in love with you, Roland Brett."

"And I with you, Grace Carter."

Grace felt as if she was walking on air as she made her way to the main hospital tents. She generally spent time with the men after lunch; she felt it was good for their morale if they saw her during the day. She enjoyed good relations with her patients and the VADs had noticed that their usually firm, disciplinarian Matron always seemed kinder and softer when sitting with the men in her charge. Grace had the ability to pace herself so that she spent a few minutes with each man and for those few minutes, her focus did not shift. They had to know that she cared and the men responded to her so that she genuinely got to know the stories they had to tell. From them she learnt much of the horror which they had seen in their often short time at the Front and her heart went out to them, in the distress which often accompanied their accounts. Grace shared what she found out with Roland.

As she entered the main tent she thought that his was the vision, which drove Hospital 25A in a way which his superiors did not always appreciate. He had been called soft, but his methods worked. He was not a soft touch, however; she knew this from their private discussions. He found it hard to tolerate those, who would not move forward, but who rather chose to cling to the old ways, and refused to admit that there were perhaps better means of achieving healing. Margaret Quayle was just such a person. Roland had told Grace that he always felt she was more soldier than nurse. He could see that she tried to stifle Grace's interest in his ideas and had once asked Grace if she had some hold over her younger colleague. He now knew, of course, what that hold had been. Grace had told him that Margaret had said she would be a pariah, if people found out about her youthful love for Amar.

In Grace, he knew he had found a kindred spirit. On the first occasion he saw her, she was helping to calm a distressed soldier, who was clearly in the grip of emotional turmoil. Margaret had been determined to get her to leave him and deal with, what she considered, more deserving men, but Grace had stood firm and politely refused to leave the man. Roland had come to the rescue of the younger, blonde sister, who was about to be sternly admonished. He said to Margaret that Grace had done exactly what he expected and liked to see from his nurses; he further said that he was fortunate to have such a dedicated team around him. Grace had silently thanked him with a grateful smile and a gentle nod of her head. He found her as lovely as her name, but pushed such thoughts to one side. The members of the Queen Alexandra Imperial Military Nursing Service were not allowed to marry and he would never compromise her vocation, besides she would never look at him. He nevertheless found himself drawn to Grace and spent an increasing amount of time with her. When the opportunity came for him to appoint his Matron, it was to Grace that he turned and, between them, they tried to take an approach to the healing of their patients, which was less militaristic and more humane, which saw them as individuals, rather than mere numbers. The men in their turn responded to this more enlightened, but nonetheless disciplined, atmosphere. Standards did not slip, but they were kinder. The surgical team itself was also a big part of this move. Roland recognised, however, that in promoting Grace above the more experienced nurse, he had made an enemy, and a poisonous one at that. Grace knew, too, that Margaret Quayle did not forgive the slight and she certainly did not forgive Grace for what she saw as a betrayal.

The afternoon seemed to pass slowly, as Grace counted the minutes until Roland's visit. As promised, he arrived in the main ward at exactly 3pm and proceeded to speak to those men, who were well enough to hear his words of encouragement and in some case to respond. In the more serious cases, he asked to review the patient notes. He requested that Grace accompany him and asked for her input on the progress of each man. To those watching them, they simply appeared the dedicated team, whom they were used to seeing: no one would have guessed at the seething mass of emotion playing out just beneath the surface of their seemingly calm exteriors. Every contact, every glance, every slight smile was laden with the promise of what was to come. In truth Grace felt that she could barely breathe for excitement and she thought, with a rush of desire, of the moment when she could remove her restrictive corsetry and allow Roland to stroke and caress her. Roland, too, felt that all he wanted to do was to take Grace away from the ward and make love to her. He tried to convey this through the occasional touch of his hand on hers, as he took paperwork from her, or in the small of her back, as he guided her to the next patient's bed, exerting the faintest pressure below her waist. Grace needed no words of explanation; she simply understood what he was trying to say to her. Finally, Roland's visit ended.

"Thank you, Matron," he said, "I shall no doubt see you later and we can discuss some of the matters arising in more detail."

"Of course, Colonel," she replied.

"Could you spare me an extra hour do you think? We have much to decide."

"I am happy, as ever, to be guided by you, Colonel."

"Shall we say 7.30pm? We can eat in my quarters, if you don't mind."

"I shall be there at 7.30pm and thank you for visiting the patients."

He smiled, acknowledged the other nurses and left. Grace watched him leave and, after a decent period of time, she left the main tent herself and went to her own quarters to prepare for the evening. Her step and her spirits were light as air, despite the awful environment surrounding her and she felt truly blessed to be loved by the man who had claimed her love so completely.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

That evening she came to him, as she had promised, at 7.30pm. There was no interest in her visits, which had taken place for so long now that they were part of the fabric of everyday life. The time spent with him had initially been accepted by all as part of the passage of his own healing after Freddie's death and, if she stayed late into the evening, this too was accepted. This time though, it would be different for she would not return to her tent. They both were in the grip of a love so intense that it would not brook any resistance. Their need to be one with each other over-rode every other emotion except the need to protect.

They ate a basic dinner, which Grace could barely swallow, for the wild beating her heart, and as darkness fell, they gave expression to the love they had newly explored together. Roland, as he often did, played some of the music they both loved on the gramophone. He kept the volume low, to avoid attention, but it was enough to mask their words to all but their ears. Seated in the armchairs, out of sight of anyone passing in the compound, leaning forward with their hands gently linked together, they were able to say the things they wanted, without fear of being overheard by eavesdroppers. As the music gently soared, so too did their spirits. Roland raised Grace's hands to his mouth and kissed her open palms, trailing his tongue up to tease the sensitive skin of her wrists, leaving her breathless with anticipation. Grace gazed up at him, her eyes limpid in the moonlit darkness of the room, and silently offering him every part of her. The effect on him of seeing her look at him, with nothing held back, took him to another level.

"Grace, I want to make love to you. I've thought of little else all day."

She smiled at him and leaning into him said, "Would you think the less of me if I admitted to the same?"

"Never! I'm amazed that someone as beautiful as you could daydream about wanting me."

Suddenly, she became serious and reached up to cup his face saying with quiet determination,

"Know that I love and desire you with every fibre of my being. No one but you can bring me the happiness I have always sought. I told you earlier that you are my love and my life; I meant it."

With that, Grace slid from her chair to kneel before him, reached up and drew his face down to hers, gently parting his lips with her tongue, as her mouth left him in no doubts whatsoever of her deep love and desire for him. He gripped her to him as she sensuously explored his mouth, and encouraged him to deepen the kiss. Her ardour empowered him and he rose and lifted her into his arms, nuzzling the area behind her ear, trailing kisses to her mouth and bending her backwards to sweep further down her exposed neck. His tongue traced the contours of her ear as he nibbled at the lobe. She gasped his name out loud and clung to him, arms crossing behind his neck, hands running through his hair, drawing him closer to her .

Her hands moved restlessly over his arms and shoulders, as she responded to him, exulting in this incredible love of theirs.

"Grace?" he asked, seeking her permission, as he led her unresisting to the stark, basically furnished room at the back of the office, which served as his sleeping quarters.

She simply nodded her assent and reached for him again, showing him the love she had for him in every movement of her mouth, in every touch of her hands against him, in every whispered word of longing. Her affirmation of his manhood was total and unequivocal.

Once safe in the privacy of his bedroom, they were able to give way to the sweeping force of passion driving them onwards to fulfilment. Clothes, with their trappings of rank, were discarded where they fell, as both Roland and Grace met each other as equals. He unhooked the corset from her breasts and waist, dropping it as she gasped with pleasure at the feel of his mouth on her body. His hands and mouth roamed her body with an ease and a familiarity, which took Grace's breath away, but which made her feel truly free for the first time in her life.

She, in turn, took her cue from her lover, reflecting his rising sense of urgency, caressing him in ways which made him groan and move to meet her every touch. She was overwhelmed by his response, as he was by hers. They had gradually moved towards his narrow bed and he eased the blanket down, before moving back to cup her face in his hands, kissing her with mounting passion. Grace held him tight, as she pressed herself against him, feeling the full extent of his arousal against her hips. Her body melted and her legs threatened to give way. Roland gently lowered her onto his bed and lay alongside Grace, kneading her breast, feeling the nipple harden under his mouth's attention, and drawing it to peak of exquisite sensitivity which almost, but never quite, verged on the painful. To give Grace all the pleasure, which he possibly could, was his sole aim. He worshipped her and stroked her waist and hips, his kisses deepening and eliciting sensual moans of pleasure in response, which he had never thought he would draw from a woman.

Grace wanted him so badly she thought she could weep with the joy of anticipating the moment when he would make her his again. As if reading her mind, his hand slid gently between her legs, which easily parted at his touch, and he started to bring her to the point where all reason fled and her body's instincts simply took over. He stopped her mouth with kisses and she moaned into him as she raised her hips off the bed to meet his hand, her right leg draped over his left one, as he deepened the point of contact. They were both lost in each other's bodies, as their mutual passion rose, and his mind was pushing him to enjoy what he knew was his, and to seek release in Grace, but he would not until he knew she was satisfied. He did not have long to wait, as he felt her tense around his fingers and bury her head into his shoulder to stifle the cries which marked her climax.

He stroked her body as she gasped for breath and eventually calmed. She looked at him in wonderment and ran her hand along him, whispering to him

"Make love to me, please," Grace huskily whispered to him.

Roland's body took control and he marvelled once again at the ease with which he entered her; she seemed made to be his partner in every way possible. He finally understood what it was for a woman to desire him, with her heart and her soul, and it fired him on to make love to the woman he desired, with his heart and soul; to make that love a tangible reality with every stroke of his body within her and her every answering pulse, which lifted him to a point he had never dreamt possible. The incoherent moans and whimpers of total acceptance beneath him, as she met his every movement with complete abandonment, was the most erotic sight he had ever seen, and merely served to enflame him further and he felt an urge to sink deep within her. If he could have drowned in her, he would have done so and died happy, but he wanted to experience more of his life with the woman he adored, so he settled for a cataclysmic peaking, reaching deep into the heart of Grace's body, which left them both gasping, trembling and murmuring endearments to each other, as he wrapped his arms around her and covered her with the top-sheet and blanket.

Grace snuggled close to her lover and held him to her. Her breasts pressed against his chest were sensitive from the attention they had received, but she welcomed the slight discomfort, for it reinforced for her that this was real, that she was in love and loved beyond measure, and was happier than she had ever been in her life. Roland was transformed in her arms and wanted solely to protect and care for Grace. His thumb tenderly stroked her lips, which were swollen from desire and the intensity of his kisses and, as he leant in to claim them once more he said,

"I swear to you, Grace, my only love, I desire nothing more than to be with you for the rest of my life. Oh, dear God, how I love you."

Overwhelmed, Grace's eyes filled with tears.

"Shh, don't cry, my darling, be happy. We have found each other and our lives have been made whole," Roland said as he softly caressed her body.

"I'm not sad, darling; I'm crying for the sheer joy I feel. I never want to be parted from you for a single day. I live for you."

As their gazes met, so too did their mouths, and kissing they placed a seal on each other's hearts, the strength of which they knew would sustain them through anything which might follow.


	10. Chapter 10

_The story continues….. _

CHAPTER 10

They sat in their usual places at the back of the office as the light outside faded. The evenings were drawing in and it was noticeably colder. Roland had moved the two armchairs closer to the stove, both to benefit from the warmth and so that they were tucked away out of sight of the main windows and door, safe from prying eyes. In this way his back was to the door and anyone entering without knocking would be unable to see Grace until he moved. It meant he could hold her hand without being seen or, if he leant forward, kiss her.

Their usual practice was to listen to music and to talk quietly about their day and their future. Tonight Roland had found some recordings of Field's "Nocturnes." The melodies were delicate and Grace seemed wrapped up in them. He had held her hand and raised it to his lips several times. She had reciprocated without hesitation, smiling softly at him. It seemed so natural for them to be together and he marvelled at the ease with which their relationship had moved from friendship to passion and love. As the music finished, Grace turned to Roland and said,

"One day I'll play those for you. They were amongst my mama's favourite pieces."

"You play the piano as well as sing? Grace, there is so much about you that I don't know and yet you are as vital to me as the sun is to this world. Tell me more of the things I don't know; I want to know everything about you before we met, my love. Your early life must have been so different to mine."

"I told you once before, sweetheart, it was a very ordinary childhood, in many respects."

"Yes, very ordinary; growing up in India must have been just like growing up in Godalming," he joked.

"Well, if you put it like that, it wasn't Godalming. For a start, the weather was more predictable, but it was very British, even down to lemonade and cucumber sandwiches for tea."

He looked at her with such enthusiasm and interest that she knew she might as well start at the beginning. Besides, she could deny him nothing, and she completely trusted him so it would be easy to tell her story. No one else could have extracted it from her; parts were so deeply buried she wondered if she would be able to fully recall them herself.

"My parents went to India with my father's regiment and I was born in a place called Mhow. It is almost exactly in the centre of India. Have you heard of it?"

"No, darling I haven't. Guildford seemed exotic when I was young, let alone places in the subcontinent!" he replied.

"Mhow is the place where the British military has its headquarters, probably because it is so central, and…."

"Is that where you met Amar?" he interjected.

"Yes, it is, my love."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted you, I just wondered," his voice trailed off, leaving his emotions clear for her to see.

"Roland, it was a long time ago and I have grown up from the young girl I then was. Apart from anything else, I love someone else to distraction and the feelings, which I had when I was in my twenties, do not bear comparison with those I have for you now."

"Grace, I'm sorry, I wasn't prying. Plainly and simply put, I adore you and in my heart I want you to feel like that for me."

"Do you doubt it, my love? she queried

"Not for a second, but I love to hear you say it." he responded. "I have never been in love, Grace, until you. You have been, though, and I suspect that if I am honest, I feel somewhat insecure for that reason."

"I loved him, Roland, or thought I did, but when I look back that love was like a spark; brief, bright and blinding, rather than the long, slow burn of the refining fire, which has consumed me and left me only one desire; to be yours, since we first acknowledged our feelings and made love. I can see no life for myself without you; I am only truly happy when I am with you; I long for your touch with an ache which is physical as well as emotional and you are my better self. When I sang to you on the beach, I was telling you how I felt, pouring out all the things which I thought I could never say to you, but I can say them, and I have. Oh God, Roland, never doubt my love for you. It is the purest thing there has ever been in my life. Tell me, you believe me, please."

"My Grace, I will never forget that evening; it is engraved on my heart forever. I do believe you, my darling, I just find it incredible that someone of your spirit and character could love me. It isn't you; it's my feelings about myself, which are the problem."

"No, no, no! I never want to hear you say that again. Why do you think I wouldn't love you? I adore you; I sometimes feel that some late summer madness has taken over my mind for I can scarce think of anything except you. My mind wanders to you at the most inopportune moments and I am sure that one day I shall blurt out something, or use some form of endearment, which betrays my feelings for all to recognise." So saying, Grace placed a hand either side of his face and squarely looking at him said with quiet deliberation,

"I, Grace Carter, love you, Roland Brett, for the rest of my earthly life and beyond. Without you there is no joy, no life, no point in anything, no future worth striving for. I am yours for as long as you want me, and beyond, for I shall never stop wanting you." With that, she kissed him as slowly and deliberately as she had spoken her declaration and he felt healed from within, worth something and the desiccated landscape of his life till this moment, was refreshed and renewed, the years of emotional taunts and jibes simply fell away, and those who had delivered them lost their power to hurt him. Grace's love had made him whole again.

"Will you tell me more about India please, Grace?"

"Of course, if you promise me that you accept the truth of my love for you."

He leant towards her, his hand stroking her face and caressed her lips with a kiss overflowing with his love for her and then he buried his head between her breasts, and kissed them, too, through her uniform blouse. She cradled his head and stroked his hair. It was a moment of the sweetest intensity and purity of feeling, reflecting their mutual love.

"I promise I do, without reservation," he replied.

"Good. Life in Mhow could have been idyllic. From the outside, my childhood must have appeared charmed; the only child of a handsome, senior British Army officer and his beautiful young wife. It would have been, were it not for my father's temper and black moods. As I grew older I realised he was deeply troubled. His anger was the outward manifestation of that and it was worse if he had been drinking. Everyone did drink in India; whisky and gin mostly, the two staples of army life and visits to the Club, where the British socialised. You can imagine that I learnt to recognise the signs of my father's mood swings from a very young age. I loved him, but I do not think he ever forgave me for not being a boy. My earliest memories are of walking on eggshells around him, lest I disturb him and incur his anger. My mother on the other hand was beautiful inside and out. She was fair haired, with grey-blue eyes, a complexion like cream, and of a small and willowy stature. I don't think he could quite believe he had been lucky enough to win her hand in marriage and he adored her."

"I can understand that part at least because I feel the same way about his daughter, who is every bit as beautiful as her mother," Roland said smiling at Grace and squeezing her hand.

Grace smiled back and continued, "Mama was the only person who could truly tame his moods. She knew just what to say and do to keep him in check. I wonder how someone so lovely could have enjoyed living with a man whose chosen companions were his guns. I hated them and I used to try to hide the bullets from him. I was always terrified lest he hurt himself or us. That made him angrier still, but I couldn't stop myself from trying to keep him safe. Mama understood. She never sent me away to boarding school, when my friends went, and I was happy to be with her rather than packed off to All Saints or Wellesley College in Naini Tal as they were. She organised a tutor to visit our bungalow, so I was home schooled in all the main subjects for Cambridge matriculation, but she taught me to play the piano, to sing and to draw. Mama was a true child of the Welsh valleys in all but her colouring, Roland. She had music running in her veins and she passed that love on to me. The only time I can remember my father looking happy with me was when she sang to him and I accompanied her. He certainly loved her, even if he had mixed feelings about me."

"She sounds a wonderful person, Grace. I wish my mother had been like that."

"She was special. My aunt in Wales begged her not to travel to India, but to stay at home with her in Pembrokeshire. Mama refused. She loved my father and wanted to be with him. Everyone loved her, including our servants, but especially me."

"How many servants did you have?"

"There were a few; the butler, my ayah, the cook, maids, dhobi wallah and gardener."

Roland's eyebrows shot up at the list of servants, but Grace was quick to place it into context.

"We weren't unusual in having servants, Roland, and they were well treated. Mama insisted that they had proper furnished quarters; received medical care, paid for by my father, if they needed it; that their children were educated and that they received an allowance for their clothing as well as their payment. Mama was very enlightened in her approach and they loved her for it. I was allowed to play with their children and I learnt to speak fluent Hindi, far more than I ought to have known for someone of my rank and status. I enjoyed being able to understand what the servants said and what the servants of other families really thought of the sahib and memsahib. I found out a lot, believe me."

Roland laughed at this; Grace was full of surprises.

"My ayah was a lovely old lady as broad as she was tall and I used to be really quite naughty with her. I would run and hide and she would look for me everywhere in our compound calling "Gracie, Gracie, baba, where you be?" Eventually I would let her find me. She made me a miniature clay oven and taught me how to cook simple Indian food at her quarters. I can make all sorts of things, Roland. Mama never minded. Our cook taught me even more. He always struggled with British food. I used to laugh when he suggested I should have "Shape" or "Blank Mange" for dessert. As I matured, my mama taught me how to run the house and to select menus for the dinner parties which we held. I grew up fast, learned the skills expected and looked set for a happy future: but then it all changed."

"Mama was of a delicate constitution, India's climate did not suit her and she fell ill of enteric fever after visiting one of the poorer areas on charitable business. I was sent away immediately; I begged my father and the doctor to let me stay, so I could help nurse her, but they refused, and rightly so. She was cared for by a private nurse, who tried everything in her power to make her better, but she did not recover. When I returned, it was to an empty home devoid of my mama and without my father. The servants were distraught at her loss; some said they would not work for my father, but I asked them to stay out of respect for my mama, and love for me. They all did and I was glad of it in the two years which followed, for they protected me, as she had done, and when things were bad they helped me."

"My father never accepted my mama's death; he was devastated and his moods became darker and more violent as he tried to lose himself in drink. With the help of the servants, I used to hide his whisky and claim no knowledge of its whereabouts. It was no use though; he would just go to the Club and drink there. Eventually, I stopped hiding it and thought that perhaps it would be better if I tried to water it down, or ration it, but he realised what I was doing. He screamed at me and told me that he hated me. At one point he shouted, "Why wasn't it you who was taken, Grace? Why? Look at you, who would want you? Angharad was beautiful, but not you. No one will want you for a wife." I was devastated and I cried enough tears to create a new ocean. He had hurt me to my core and then he started to hurt me physically."

Grace's eyes filled with tears and her voice wavered with emotion. Roland reached for her, pulling her into his arms and whispering into her hair,

"Don't say any more, darling. It is too upsetting for you. I had no idea and would never have said anything if I had known of the memories, which would surface. I am to blame for your distress and I cannot forgive myself for that." So saying, he kissed her gently.

"it is alright, Roland, it isn't your fault and my story is almost over now. I want you to know me with nothing held back." She pushed the hair back from her forehead and taking a deep breath to steady her nerves she continued.

"My father continued to drink and to threaten to do himself, or me, harm with his guns. He never missed an opportunity to humiliate me in front of visitors or the servants. I had it all, Roland; crockery hurled at me; a decanter of spirit; shameful things said in front of our friends; my mama's possessions sold to pay for his drink habit. Every last piece of her jewellery was sold. In the end, I could stomach it no longer and I remonstrated with him for living his life in an alcoholic haze. He screamed at me his usual retort that he wished I was the one in the graveyard and I shouted at him that if I had to choose which parent had been taken, I would have chosen him every single time. I did not mean it, but my hurt was too great."

Roland could see her obvious distress and tried to soothe her. Grace continued,

"The words were no sooner out of my mouth then he bore down on me and hit me with his fist. I felt as if my eye was about to explode. Then he grabbed his riding switch and brought it down on my back. I twisted to avoid the blows which followed, but one caught me in the small of my back. There is a thin scar about three inches long where the crop bit into me. I ran for my life and took shelter with my ayah in her quarters. She hid me in her son's home until my father's rage had calmed. I would not return to the bungalow on my own and so the next day I went to the priest, Father Mackay, and asked for his help. I had nowhere else to turn. He saw the bruising to my face and the blood on my dress and told me that I had no choice but to leave if I wanted to survive. I knew he was right. He accompanied me to the house once more. I tried to talk to my father but he had withdrawn from me. It was whilst packing my things that I heard him tell my father that what he had done was wrong, on every level, and betrayed the relationship which should exist between father and daughter. I knew my father did not care and, when I tried to explain that I was leaving, he turned his back on me and said I was no child of his. I went back up to my room to collect my portmanteau and it was then that the shot rang out. My father died from a single bullet to the head. The verdict was accidental death because no one could tell if he meant to do it or not, but I blamed myself and perhaps still do. Father Mackay was wonderful with me; he reassured me that it was not my fault and said that he would find an opening for me. It was through him that I started nursing and started my service in India, with a short period in South Africa, too. So there you have my story, Roland, and I am glad that you know it. I want no secrets between us. That is everything; there is nothing more."

Grace paused for a few moments and visibly composed herself before concluding,

"My aunt in Wales offered to take me in, but I needed to work, to do something useful, to try to make a difference where I had not been able to with my father. It was in the course of my service that I met Amar. I wanted to be loved, to know I was worth something and he gave me that. I shall always be grateful for his part in my life, but in you Roland, I have found what I have been searching for all these years. You make my heart beat faster, I feel beautiful when I am with you, and my body screams to be joined with yours. I'm not ashamed of what I feel for you; I love you, Roland, totally and unequivocally love you."


	11. Chapter 11

_I am sorry that you have had to wait for this update, but there's a lot going on at the moment. Anyway, to make it up to you, here is a much longer chapter. It felt right not to divide it for the sake of it, so consider this "two for the price of one"! Thank you for your generous reviews; they are such a joy to receive. _

CHAPTER 11

As soon as she had poured out her feelings, Grace's head bowed and her shoulders sagged as if under the weight of a heavy burden but, in truth, she had shed one in sharing her history with Roland. They sat in silence and then she slowly raised her eyes to meet his gaze, the glitter of unshed tears rendering luminosity to her gaze. As she looked at him, the tears spilled over and the faint light picked out the trace of a shining path down her cheeks. Roland gently wiped the tears away with the backs of his fingers and drew her to him, softly kissing her cheeks as she looked up at him, and soothing her with words of reassurance. He rested his chin on her head and held her close, rocking her gently to restore her sense of equilibrium. When he sensed her spirits were calmer, he said,

"I am humbled by your love for me, Grace. I must have been very good at some point in my life to deserve it."

She faintly smiled and he could see that her colour was returning.

"Love isn't deserved, Roland; it's something you feel and freely give. I feel it and choose to give mine to you."

"It is a gift I always wanted, that I treasure and always shall, Grace. I give you the only gift I can, my love, in return. Is it enough for you?"

"You know it is and you know that I feel the same." Grace turned her face up and he bent to receive the kiss she offered him. "You're my future, Roland."

"Well, if that's the case, it sounds as if I need to tell you about my past, so then we shall be equal."

"May I stay here? I'm comfortable and I feel safe in your arms."

His answer was a kiss on top of her head-dress, which he then unpinned and placed to one side so that he could free her hair and stroke its tumbling waves.

"I was born in…" he looked at her and smiled.

"Godalming?" she asked

"Yes! How ever did you know that?"

She smiled again; broader this time.

"My father was a Brigadier, as he constantly reminded me. My mother was an ornament."

"Service wives often are, Roland."

"That's not my idea of a wife," he said, glancing down and nuzzling her neck.

"I am very pleased to hear that," Grace replied, with mock seriousness, her spirits now more normal.

"We lived in some comfort in Godalming, a spacious, but rather 'precise' house, albeit with decent grounds where I could play. Despite its relative comfort, I much preferred visiting my paternal grandfather in Worcestershire and roaming around the orchards, feasting on fallen apples and plums, taking care not to get stung by the wasps, which drowsily buzzed round the trees, intoxicated on the slightly fermented fruit. In fact, when I think of my grandfather's house, the garden is the thing, which always springs to mind. Do you know Worcestershire, Grace?"

"No, darling; I've not visited it."

"Well, it's a county of real natural beauty, rolling hills, fertile farmland and the sun bouncing of the river Severn's surface as it glides through on its path to the sea; oh, and the most important thing of all, a fine county cricket team, although the batting's not what it once was."

"It sounds beautiful and I like cricket. It's very popular in India."

"It is a lovely county, sweetheart, and one day I shall take you there. I want you to share with me the places, which have helped to shape my life and my character."

She pressed his hand firmly and smiled at him saying, "I'm so happy that you feel like that. It means so much to me."

"That's why I want to do it. Where was I?"

"You were telling me about your grandfather's house and garden, before taking a slight detour into the world of cricket," Grace said, looking up at him amusedly.

Oh, yes. My grandfather was a typical country doctor and he had the most wonderful house; half-timbered, with more nooks and crannies than I can list, dating back in parts to the 16th century. It even had a priest's hole."

"A what?"

"A priest's hole, where the Catholic priests could hide from the King's men and escape arrest."

"Of course; I recall now from my Tudor history."

"Well, I used to hide in it, too. It was far better for mischievous young boys than grown men because it was the right size! Grandfather knew I was there, of course, but he would pretend he didn't. He would stomp about overhead saying in a very loud voice, "Now where has that boy gone? Roland? I can't spend all day searching for you. I have to go to find fresh herbs for my dispensary." He knew that once he'd said that, I would be out like a greyhound because I loved going with him on his gathering trips. He taught me about each herb we found; what it was used for, dosages, contra-indications. I learnt so much from him, Grace. He was a true healer. He had been taught all about herbal remedies by his mother and, in his will, he left me her original notebooks and copy of Culpepper's Herbal, as well as the house. No one else loved that house as I did, and that's why he left it to me rather than my father, who rarely visited my grandfather."

"Why did he not visit, my love?" Grace asked

"You'll know in a minute or two, sweetheart. Grandfather and I walked in the woods near the house, and in the garden, where there was a formal area with beds planted with every herb you could think of. Next to each one, to help me to recognise and learn about them, when I was young, he had made tiny markers, with neat writing in waterproof paint, recording the information I needed to know. He taught me where to look in the woods and the fields for certain things, too, and how to make mixtures, lotions, creams and pills. I had a great love for him and he for me, for we both shared the love of medicine above all else."

"I knew that practising medicine had to be in your blood, Roland. You're too passionate about it, for it not to be," Grace observed.

"I've recently become more passionate about my Matron!" he said, winding his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and kissing her with clear hunger, so that she sensuously moaned into his mouth. "Is that proof enough?" he asked, looking deep into her eyes. She nodded, momentarily breathless, and grazed his lips with hers, by way of further assent.

"Good! My grandfather was more of a father to me, than his son was. He had a gentleness of approach and an appreciation of life, which was not in my father's character. He understood that I was driven by a desire to help others and that it was my dearest wish to follow in his footsteps and to perhaps be a village doctor just like him. He wanted that, too, and encouraged my ambition. Grandfather used to point to his framed Oxford University medical degree on the wall and say "One day, Roland, you will have your degree certificate hanging next to mine." All was well, until my father became involved. He realised that I was serious about becoming a doctor and told grandfather not to fill my head with stuff and nonsense, saying that I was to follow him into the Army, into his beloved Coldstream Guards. I was equally determined that I was not going to do that. It caused a huge rift."

"Why could your father not see that medicine was what you wanted to do?"

"My father was of a generation, which could still recall doctors and surgeons being treated as second class citizens, within the military hierarchy. He saw my ambitions as being worthless in terms of promotion and status, so much so that he refused to pay for my university education, if I persisted in my dream of becoming a doctor. We argued and he threatened to cut me off without a penny. Fortunately, grandfather could see that medicine was the only career, which would fulfil me, and he told my father that he would pay my fees and ensure that I never wanted for anything. Father was beside himself because grandfather was not accountable to him and had guaranteed my solvency. I often feel that it was out of pure spite that father arranged for Hetty and I to marry, but I'm leaping ahead of myself."

"I trained at Oxford, with a further period at St Bartholomew's in London to gain my MBBS and study my elective in general surgery, although I never lost my love of holistic medical practice treating the body and mind. It was whilst I was there that I found a way to heal the rift between my grandfather and father. The newly formed Royal Army Medical Corps seemed the ideal way to satisfy both of them. I spoke to my grandfather and he was in favour of my suggestion. My father, too, appeared as satisfied as it was possible for him to be and to celebrate my conversion, in his eyes, from the medical to military life, he arranged, and my mother acquiesced in, the marriage between Hetty and I. Hetty was the only daughter of Brigadier Sir John Freedman, one of father's oldest friends. They saw the betrothal as a means of cementing their friendship for all to see. To be frank, I think my father felt more for Sir John and vice versa than Hetty & I did for each other. We were manifestly unsuited, had nothing in common and Hetty despised my vocation as a surgeon. She wanted a "real man" as she told me over and over again."

Grace could see that just thinking about the past was painful for Roland.

"I don't need to know this, Roland. I know you love me and we are together; that is enough for me. Please don't cause yourself unnecessary pain."

"Grace, I want you to know about me, no matter how unpleasant it is, going back into the past."

"Very well, but only if you are comfortable with it, my love."

"With you by my side, how could I not be? Hetty and I were married and it soon became apparent that the only area on which we agreed was that we did not love, or even particularly like, each other. Worse still, it was clear that Hetty was far more sexually experienced than I was, as she was never slow to point out. In fact I had no experience, Grace. Over time, I did what was expected and Freddie and Alexander were born a few years apart. That was the end of any marital relationship between us. Freddie was more like her and Alexander is like my grandfather and I. Hetty continued to pursue relationships with any number of officers, and I buried my feelings in the boys, but when they went to boarding school, I was forced to take stock of my situation, realised that, like Hetty, I had been used like a pawn in a chess game, and I began to concentrate on my career with the RAMC."

"I had done my military training at Aldershot and my first posting overseas was to South Africa during the Boer conflict. I saw the destruction which could be wreaked on the human body by rifles and the so-called advances in warfare. It was a hard and painful education for me and my surgical skills were tested to the utmost and honed in a way they never would have been at home. I easily achieved promotion and my father, for once, seemed content with my career choice. All was well until grandfather's death, whereupon I came into my inheritance and father was effectively overlooked. I don't think he forgave me for that, but I was now financially self-sufficient and able to lead a life free from father's interference and control."

"Throughout it all, my mother has been an almost ghostly presence in my life, pretty and compliant, but not demonstrative; so when she died, I did not feel much of sense of loss, although I had loved her. Father began to stay at his Club more often and so there was little sense of being a family anymore. Emotionally, my life was empty, but professionally I led a full existence because I found myself concentrating more and more on my work. When this God forsaken conflict started, I was posted here and placed in command of this Field Hospital, where my heart was stolen by a beautiful junior sister, with a simple nod of her head and a smile, although I could not show her that, as I now know, I had fallen instantly in love. Instead, I went about my daily business taking my responsibilities seriously, which might make me seem aloof to some, but I'm not. I care for everyone's welfare here, but mostly I care for you, my angel, whom I love beyond reason. With you I can be myself, but my mother & wife were both distant; I always felt it was my fault. I need to believe it can be different with you, and I really think it can be for the first time in my life."

"Oh my darling, it isn't you. I have such joy in you & how whole I feel." So saying, Grace took Roland's hand and placed it over her heart.

"Roland, this belongs to you. You have the power to nurture it or break it. I cannot believe you have felt insecure about your ability to love & care for me because every second with you completes me. We are, in a sense, two sides of a coin, which once joined are of greater value than individually."

"I can't live without your love, Grace."

"You will never have to, Roland."

He stroked her fair hair and bending down kissed her deeply. They were both lost in the moment, aware of nothing beyond the feel of each other's mouths, the warmth of their breath and the rising need to hold and to talk with their hands. They did not need words, but words came in the fullness of time, punctuated by kisses and caresses.

"My darling Grace….," as he held her protectively to him.

"I love you so much, Roland."

"I can't think of anything but you," he replied. "I sit and stare at the papers before me and my mind is full of remembered images of you; your face as we make love, your voice when you cry out my name, your lips parting below mine. Sometimes, I feel I need you right there and then, but I have to thrust such thoughts from me."

"I know; I feel the same. I find myself having to be firm to cover the softness I feel inside, the vulnerability, the sense that we transcend this place, the wanting you to hold me and make love to me. I am only whole when you are with me."

"Grace, I have never loved before, and I never will again. With you, it is so easy to be freed from constraints and to simply follow my body's lead. I find myself making love to you in ways, which I never knew I wanted to before, but it simply happens of its own volition. Does that make sense?"

"If you mean we give full expression to our love for each other, then I am a willing accomplice. I love you entirely without reservation. I shock myself with the breadth of my desire and responsiveness to you, but I never want it to change, and if that shocks others in due course, well so be it. I desire only your love and understanding, no one else's."

Roland was overwhelmed by the naked emotions playing across Grace's face as she spoke to him and in that instant he knew that in their hearts and minds they would never be separated. She was his and he was hers as surely as the sun would rise over this corner of North West France in a few hours' time. He reached for her again, holding her hard against him as she sat on his lap, and their mouths met. Their embrace was full of the gentleness and care, which underpinned their love, as they explored and discovered each other, as if for the first time. There was in a very real sense wonderment about them, on each occasion when they were able to physically express themselves.

"Being like this with you, being so close, gives me strength, sweetheart. I don't need words. Sometimes I feel as if you can read my deepest thoughts," he said.

"I know my love; it feels as if I can. I see you often, but sometimes I would like to say out loud the words of love & longing, which feelings are my constant companions each day. I know I can't, but that doesn't stop me wishing I could," confessed Grace.

"Grace, it is the same for me. I see you cross the compound & want to rush out to hold you just for a moment, but I cannot."

"Will it ever change, my love? How long will this wretched war continue?"

"Sweetheart, I don't know. All I know is that I love you more with every passing hour & I want you to be mine, for as long as God spares us, which I hope will be a very long time."

Grace embraced him & said, "You said you loved me from the start, but you also touched my heart, from the moment we first met. I think I knew even then, with all the uncertainty over Amar, that you & I were destined to be together, but I couldn't see any way forward for us. I felt such guilt about Amar & the fact you were married, happily as far as I knew, so I chose to sublimate my feelings into being your help mate, but I never quite buried the feeling that we could be so much more. So you see, Roland, I am far from perfect; my love for you has always been my Achilles heel & is now even more so. My only vulnerability is you. You have the power to crush me because I need you to the point of desperation."

As she poured out the innermost secrets of her heart, Roland intently listened to every word, engraving them on his heart. He had never felt so loved & try as he might tears came to his eyes. This woman, his beloved, most beautiful Grace, had always loved him. The knowledge coursed through him & he felt an intense jolt of sexual energy and a hunger, which he knew only Grace could assuage. Never had he felt such need for a woman. He had reached a point in his life where he had started to feel his best years were behind him, but since he had acknowledged his desire for her & they had embarked on this journey together, he felt rejuvenated & had the drive to accompany it. There was no question that she was essential to his wellbeing in every sense, only she could quench the thirst which he had and he wanted her; it was as simple as that, naked want. Grace saw the tears in his eyes & reached up to touch his face, smiling gently at him and tilting her face up to graze a kiss against his mouth. Her eyes were soft in the lamplight and when she looked into his, she saw not only emotion, but also a flaring of something else, which she recognised and welcomed.


	12. Chapter 12

_KLS White made me feel so guilty yesterday, for stopping where I did, that I resolved to complete the next chapter ahead of schedule. Here it is, hot off the press. There is a long way to go with this story and several plot lines to be explored, so please bear with me. Thanks, as ever, for your reviews, which are so affirming._

CHAPTER 12

Grace had never felt so treasured, as she did with Roland, & felt as deep a need for him, as he did for her. She was becoming accustomed to the aching sensation deep in her, which caused her to want to push propriety aside and offer her body & soul to him, hoping that he would take her & reach into the core of her being, to merge her flesh with his, lose himself in her, & she in him, and together reach sexual & emotional fulfilment. Her body throbbed and she threw her arms around him, sighing his name into the rapidly diminishing space between his mouth & hers. She did not feel that anyone could love as much as they did. He was her reason for being & she adored him to the point of complete abandonment of custom & convention. If he had asked her to walk naked to his office, she believed she would have done so.

He returned Grace's embrace and pulled her to him, devouring her, plundering her mouth, enjoying the sweetness of her tongue moving against his until they broke apart, breathless but not sated. Again they passionately embraced & kissed, forgetting everything but each other, tempering their desperation to be one flesh with a deliberate sensuousness, designed to keep the ultimate surrender of self at bay, so that they would both derive the maximum pleasure from their lovemaking. Grace felt an intense eroticism in every movement of her body against his, swaying into him & running her hands through his hair & down the thick serviceable cotton of his shirt, her fingers teasing his nipples which caused him to groan. She felt freed from all constraints, floating as if she was gossamer in a miasma of delight.

Roland forced himself to regain control, as he realised that neither of them would rest until they were united once more as one flesh. Drawing breath and resting his forehead against Grace's he said, "Sweetheart, we should take this somewhere more private, don't you think?" "Mmm" came her response of rising pleasure & agreement. He eased her from his lap, rose from the chair, collected the discarded head-dress in case anyone saw it, and drew her after him to their sanctuary at the rear of his office, looking over his shoulder to satisfy himself that they were not observed &, as he did so, catching a smile on Grace's face which promised him everything & more. He felt a surge of primal dimensions travel through him as he closed the door behind them, pushing her unresistingly against it, as he ran his hands down her body, resting at her waist & pressing her against him. Her eyes darkened, as she felt the extent of his desire for her, & she sighed as she caught her lower lip between her teeth, overcome by her own need for him.

They kissed as he threw the head-dress to one side on top of his chest of drawers.

"Col Brett, I may need that!" she said, teasingly.

"Not where you're going tonight Matron Carter," he said caressing her breasts through the top of her uniform.

"And where might that be, Sir?" she huskily responded, pressing against his hands.

"To paradise & back, Matron," as his hands travelled lower, eliciting a moan of pleasure.

"Really? With whom?" She panted as his hands moved upwards again, leaving her wanting more.

"Whomsoever you want," as he removed the stud & her collar parted.

"I want you; only you. Take me with you, please" she begged as his head lowered and he kissed her collarbone trailing up the side of her neck to nuzzle at the hairline behind her ear.

"Your wish is my command, my darling." His hands opened her blouse and he kissed the tops of her breasts, pushed firmly upward by the boned corset beneath, unfastening it slowly so that each inch of her was slowly released to the care & attention of his mouth & hands. She was so aroused; at fever pitch. The blouse & corset met a similar fate to her head-dress, but she didn't notice as her traitorous body had severed all connection with her mind & was drumming a rhythm, as old as time itself.

Her instincts were driving her to levels of response she had never believed possible. She stopped his hands, standing semi-naked before him. He seemed taken aback, until she reached for & kissed him. She slowly raised her hands and unknotted his tie, preventing him from pulling it off.

"No, Roland, I want to undress you too." Then she pulled it slowly from his neck & traced its passage down his body with her hand, feathering his jaw with kisses as she did so.

"Grace, oh Grace" he moaned. She smiled at him, as her fingers moved to unbutton his shirt, easing it from his shoulders & discarding it along with the tie on the chest of drawers. His army issue undershirt followed. They stood before each other, eyes locked, gazes unwavering, as they unfastened their remaining garments. Roland's fingers slipped inside the waistband of Grace's skirt & deftly loosened it, so that the fabric slipped down her legs, pooled on the floor & she stepped outside the circle which it formed, her hands anchored on his shoulders.

Grace's fingers freed the buttons of his trousers &, as they did so, she felt the heat & rigidity of his manhood, which had been pressing against the rough woollen serge material, jump at her touch. She continued to look deep into his eyes as she pushed the thick army trousers down, bending to remove his boots, to ease their passage onto the floor. He looked down at her, his need as naked as his body. She looked up at him and smiled in acknowledgement of his silent request as his hands gently stroked her hair. Mere minutes later his hands stilled the movement of her head, as he teetered on the brink, and he drew her up to him, enfolding her in his arms, amazed at the depth of her love.

"Oh my love, I have never known such joy, such love as you give me. I should never have ..."

Grace silenced his mouth with a kiss.

"I have never wanted to touch a man as I want to touch you. I truly love you, and in love there is only beauty, & the beauty of your body in my eyes moves me to honour you with mine."

He was moved, as never before, by her honesty & her trust.

"I could so easily have reached completion but I wanted you with me," he replied.

"My love, know that in showing my love for you, as I just did, I felt as much pleasure as I gave. Never doubt the depth and breadth of my love for you. I have said before, you are my life."

He held her close, more overwhelmed than ever before by his feelings for her.

"One day, I shall shout out for the world to hear that I love you, Grace."

"I simply love you; I know nothing else, nor want for anything, save your love."

Roland held her as if she were made from the finest porcelain, stroking and kissing her with increasing passion as she moved against him, aroused beyond anything she had felt before. Her mouth meshed with his as she pressed her breasts into his chest. He slowly eased down her thin undergarments, stroking & cupping her buttocks, & then moved to the seat of her femininity, pressing the heel of his palm against her. She rocked against his hand, leaning back against the door, feeling the cold, rough wood dig into her back, pressing harder, implicitly asking for more. Roland knew her body's responses, as well as she did, & his fingers gave her what she needed, circling those areas of greatest sensitivity with the deft skill of a musician, who intimately knows his instrument, taking her higher, her body tensing, anticipating the wave of pleasure, until she peaked and fell into him, crying into his shoulder, and the diminuendo commenced. Grace clung to him, shaking with the force of her climax, as her body relaxed.

"Come; lie down with me. I want to hold you, my darling" he said.

He led her unresisting to the bed & pulled back the sheet & blanket. Grace slid beneath the covers &, as they lay side by side & he stroked her face, she became so overwhelmed that she wept against him. He raised her tear stained face to look deep into her eyes & said,

"Why the tears, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?"

"Oh no, never. You could never hurt me. But did I shock you by wanting you so much & doing what I did? I love you, Roland. I have no shame with you and I wanted to make love to you with my mouth."

"Is that what this is all about? You goose! I wanted you to do it; I've dreamt of it, so don't cry for making my dreams come true. I'm a man, Grace; I want you to want me, & the sight & feel of you were beyond anything I imagined."

"I wanted you so much & I still do. You make me want to explore every part of my femininity with you & to give you love in whatever way you want it. I know that isn't what a woman should admit to, if she wants to be treated as a lady, but it is honestly how you make me feel. You do still love me, don't you?"

"Oh my love, my Grace, I love you more than ever. And if that love expresses itself in the physical act, I know it flows from our hearts. You're my woman, in my heart you're my wife. There I've said it. Feel what you do to me & know that this is the outward manifestation of the deep love I have for you. Yes, I love you; yes, I want you; yes, I plan to have you now and marry you when I am free, not because I have to, but because I want to & I need to, if I am ever to be happy in this life. You are my joy. I adore you. Does that tell you what I feel?"

"My darling Roland, I'm yours forever, if you want me." Her hands rested on his chest and she moved her fingers up to tenderly touch his face, the same sense of wonderment flooding through her. He sensed it, too, as he kissed her fingers, gently eased her onto her back and knelt between her legs. She raised them, threading her legs around his and gasped as he slowly & deliberately, entered her, inch by inch, the pressure subtly shifting deeper inside her, with every movement he made, until he stopped & pulled out of her. She felt bereft & looked at him in surprise. With that, he entered her in one smooth thrust and she gasped with pleasure, as he repeated this over & over again, slowly & deliberately stroking her towards the point of no return, until he, too, could no longer distance himself from the sensations he was creating & his body drove him towards completion. His thrusts became swifter and harder; Grace felt her body urging him onwards, as she met his thrusts, pushing upwards, pulling him deeper into her. Her head moved from side to side, her body was damp and she reached down to touch him, as he loved her into oblivion. Grace felt the start of a wave of pleasure, which spread outwards & then drew back, each time spreading a little further & contracting more. With the final contraction came an inundation, as she reached a shattering climax, & Roland was with her, consecutive thrusts culminating in his own peak a split second later, head thrown back, the veins on his neck standing proud, as he struggled not to cry out her name. She pulled him down to lie on her, held him, cradling his head against her breast, which he cupped in his hand. As Roland recovered, he slid down her body & kissed her, where they had been so recently joined, sending tiny after-shocks of pleasure through her over-sensitised flesh. She caressed his head, where it rested, until he kissed his way back up.

"I love you Grace."

She understood what he had just shown her, saw how her earlier fears were without foundation & reaching for him, she settled against him, her head on his heart & her arm around his waist. He held her to him, his lips brushing her hair & hands gently stroking her back. Contentment enveloped them in its soothing embrace and. as sleep finally claimed them, as one, they realised that they had never loved so well.

Grace, ever an early riser, woke two hours later. Roland was still asleep. He had slept on his side, giving her as much space in the narrow bed as possible. She looked at his face, peaceful & at ease, and her heart filled with emotion. He shouldered such a heavy load with the hospital & she knew how deeply he cared for their patients because she felt the same. Now that they had each other, that responsibility was truly shared, in a way it had not been before. She lay in the dark, treasuring this time, when she could watch over him, as he did her each day. She couldn't help herself and gently stroked his cheek. He moved in his sleep, edging closer to her, and she responded by snuggling into him. He stirred & quietly said "Grace, are you alright?"

"Yes, my love I've never felt better."

"Come here, heart of mine." He pulled her into the circle of his arms, even more closely, & kissed her forehead.

"I love you, Roland."

"I know. And I love you, my angel."

"Sleep, darling. You need your rest."

"Says the woman, who drives me wild with desire, so that I am unable to rest without, or with, her by my side!" He bent his head & kissed her mouth, easing her head back so he could deepen the contact.

"Why is my need for you my constant companion each day and night? I shall never know the answer to that, for its source lies beyond the realms of men, I am certain. Yet, I know this; that you are truly my beloved and we shall be together. It will happen, Grace. Love like this will not be denied."

So saying, he kissed her the top of her head and pulled her into the circle of his arms once more. She rested quietly against him and treasured the assurance he had just given her, which filled her with hope for the future.


	13. Chapter 13

_Life has been very hectic this week and so I apologise for the delay in posting. There follow two chapters and a third in the next couple of days. I've had to prepare for an interview or they would all have been up tonight. I hope you're still enjoying the story and your reviews are always so welcome. _

CHAPTER 13

The rain poured down as it had done for several days. Grace heard the steady echo of steps on the wooden boards, getting closer as she walked slightly ahead of them towards the pharmacy; then the voice of Corporal Staines saying,

"Begging your pardon, Matron Carter; the Colonel needs to speak with you straight away."

"Thank you, Corporal. I'm on my way."

Grace turned and redirected her path towards Roland's office; as always she was happy to have a valid reason to see him and had to make a conscious effort not to smile, despite the awful weather doing its best to make her miserable. She knocked on the door and entered. Roland was at his desk surrounded by paperwork, but stopped what he was doing the moment she came in. He rose and went to her, checking to make sure that she was unaccompanied, before placing his hand over hers, clasped together as usual at waist level, and squeezing them gently.

"Grace, thank you for coming so promptly," he said, realising as he touched her hands that they were cold and wet. Looking up, he saw she was saturated. "Your clothes are soaking wet; here let me take your cloak for you and put it near the stove," he said and, as the coast was clear, he reached to unfasten the cloak for her, gently running his fingers along her neck as he did so. The only positive factor, arising from the endless rain, was that people tended not to hang about outside for too long. He took the saturated garment and placed it over the back of a wooden chair near the stove.

"I have only done as I was asked. Corporal Staines said you needed me immediately," she replied, smiling at him as he gestured to her to take one of two chairs near the stove; the only bit of warmth in his office.

The slightly formal tone of their exchange was one they had been careful to maintain despite the total alteration in their personal relationship, as both were aware that even when they had not been lovers, their friendship had been the subject of hospital gossip and tittle tattle. Had Sister Quayle not taken excessive pleasure in pointing that out to Grace on at least one memorable occasion? The restraint that they demonstrated in maintaining their professional façade was the behavioural product of years of social expectation, military training and discipline, and in their private conversations, they had both acknowledged that it was essential to maintain the status quo, if their love for each other was to remain undiscovered, thus enabling them to stay together. Besides, they were consummate professionals, as well as lovers, and the smooth running of this hospital depended on their discretion and their dedication to serve the best interests of those unfortunate souls who had been injured in the pursuit of this conflict. Neither ever forgot that whilst they were on duty that was their prime focus. When they were off duty, the lines were blurred, but they still cared for the men and women in their charge, irrespective of their feelings about the war itself.

She walked past him to the chair and, knowing she was safe to do so, she indulged herself, allowing her errant fingers to stroke his for a second or two. He reciprocated and, as she sat down, he stood behind her in the shadows and gently clasped her shoulders.

"Grace, your uniform is wet. You really should change or you'll catch pneumonia."

"Why, so I can walk out in a fresh one and be soaked again within half a dozen yards of my tent?"

"True; but sit closer to the stove and warm yourself through. There's nothing of you and I can't have you ill. What would happen to us all without my Matron on duty?" He smiled at her and she responded in kind.

"Very well, I shall sit closer to the stove."

The smell of damp wool was rising from her cloak, as the heat slowly evaporated the rainwater from its folds. It reminded Roland of the sheep in the Worcestershire fields surrounding his grandfather's house, when the sun warmed them through after a shower.

"Tea?"

"Yes, please, Roland."

He brought their cups across and took a seat near Grace.

"I wanted to let you know that there have been heavy casualties sustained in yet another fruitless attempt at breaking the stalemate on the Somme. We can expect a large convoy tonight and the casualties will likely be badly injured. I'm sorry, Grace; I know how hard your team are working to maintain standards in the face of insuperable odds, but we need to open a further ward."

"Very well; I shall see that it is done and that beds are ready for the wounded. It's been so long since we started the push against the Germans. When will it be over do you think?" she asked.

"Not for a while yet, I suspect. We've been fighting since 1st July and have precious little to show for it beyond more maimed and wounded soldiers. Haig calls it "a plan of leisurely progress". I wonder if he'd be so relaxed about it all if he was sitting in a trench. A plan of leisurely mass slaughter, if you ask me. It all seems so damned pointless," he replied, his frustration clearly showing. Grace's surprise at hearing him speak in such an unrestrained manner must have been visible because he quietly followed this with, "I'm sorry, my darling; I did not mean to speak so rudely in front of you."

"It's not rude, Roland; it's the truth. My nurses are barely able to keep up with the stream of casualties and the wounds are horrific. I thought I had seen most things before coming to France, but nothing prepares you for this. God knows what the VADs make of it; I am sure that they will be affected by what they have seen here. How could they not be?"

"I am concerned for all the staff. The surgeons are exhausted. I shall have to be on duty tonight as there are simply not enough of us to cope with a large convoy. I may need to prevail on you to assist me. I know that it is not your role to do so, but…"

"It would be a privilege to assist you in any way I can. I'm glad that asked me. I want to help you." So saying, she reached across and clasped his hand. He glanced round, then raised her hand to his lips and lingeringly kissed it.

"Are you able to act as my nurse; pass me the instruments, such as they are, and close after I have finished? It's generally basic stitching."

"Of course; I have done so several times before. Please don't worry, Roland. It will go smoothly. I shall ask Sister Quayle to cover the wards, while I am assisting you. She will relish being in charge and the VADs are used to the drill."

"You've done an amazing job, Grace, in turning them into such a useful resource. I always knew I had made the right choice for my Matron, but you have shown me over and over again, just how inspired that decision was. I know it has caused friction for you, but it is a small price to pay for having the best Matron in northern France under my command."

"I like being under your command, as you know," she teased, "and Margaret was always going to be a problem in whatever role you placed me. I still don't trust her, despite all her protestations to the contrary."

"You don't need to worry about her, Grace; I'm here."

"I know, and I'm not worried anymore. I was at one time, but that was before we acknowledged how we felt. Just knowing you are there is the greatest support I can have."

"I always will be there." He gazed at her with complete honesty.

"Will you? Even when all this is over and you have to go back to your wife?"

"Yes; I shall be. I've told you, my darling, I need to be with you. I can never go back to the way things were before. I'm going to see Hetty when I am next on home leave. She and I need to divorce; it's the only way. We're miserable together and it needs to end."

"But what about your son, Roland? He's lost his brother. He won't want his parents to be separated. I feel so awful about him. I can't place my own needs above his, no matter what the consequences for me."

"Sweetheart, Alexander is more my son than Hetty's. He has always sided with me and I know will want me to be happy. She never visits him and during his school holidays, she has sent him to her parents' house, which he hates, or he has been left at home with the staff whilst she gallivants around the countryside. Hetty has treated Alexander as badly in many respects as she has me. She never writes to him, either. I might be away from him, but I do at least manage that. I do not foresee any issues in him accepting our relationship. He is growing up, too, Grace, but I pray that this conflict is over before he is old enough to fight. I don't want to lose another son." Roland's face darkened as he uttered his final words and Grace's heart felt as if it would break when she saw the pain etched on his features.

"My love, you will not lose him. I shall try to be a friend to him, if he will let me. I do not presume to take his mother's place."

"He will let you, I am sure and you have shown more care for his welfare in what you have said to me than I have ever heard from his mother. Freddie was her favourite; poor Alexander was almost an after-thought to her."

"I am so sorry, Roland."

"Don't be. He knows how much I love him and we share so many things in common that I believe it compensates for the deficiencies in maternal care. Now, you will need to try to get some sleep before tonight and the nurses will need rest, too. Do you want to stay here in front of the stove? It is warm at least."

"If it was just us, I would accept the offer of warmth in a second, but I think I need to lead by example on this, Roland, as my nursing staff will be doing so much extra work. I shall oversee their efforts, take my rest in my tent and join you before the convoy arrives. After it is over though, I think I should be grateful for resting here with you. No one will think twice about that and they will be too tired to notice, anyway. I think we shall also be too tired for anything but sleep."

"We shall see, Matron Carter," he countered, with a half smile playing on his lips. "Tired or not, I shall look forward to seeing you later and to holding you close to my heart where you belong," he replied.

"And I you, Colonel Brett. Now, if I might ask for my cloak back, I need to instruct my staff on what is required over the next few hours. They need to be finished before the bugle sounds for the evening meal, if they are to get any rest. It will be a long night."

Roland rose from his chair, collected the cloak, which was now merely damp rather than waterlogged, and walked to stand behind Grace. He wrapped it around her shoulders and as she closed its clasp, he took her hands in his. Grace pressed his hands against her breast and then turned quickly in his arms and, raising her head, she pressed her mouth to his. His response was immediate as he pulled her hard against him and deepened their kiss for as long as he dared before taking her hands in his and grazing his lips along her fingers, which were now far warmer than they had been when she had arrived. She looked deep into his eyes as he did so and the gentleness of her gaze pierced his heart with a desire to protect her with every means at his disposal.

"I did not know what love was before I met you, Grace."

"I'm glad, and if that sounds selfish, then I apologise, but I want you to love me as much as I love you," she whispered in return.

"There is no beginning or end to my feelings for you and I cannot face the prospect of a life without you. Now, go and see to your nurses, for my head is full of you and ought to be on other things."

"I'm going, but my heart I leave with you until we can be together later. I love you." With that, Grace walked out of the office and headed to the main wards. He closed the door behind her and watched through the window as her slight form disappeared from view. He felt so many things for Grace that at times he felt overcome with his emotional response to her. She was his talisman amidst the gloom of this desolate war and he would never lose her, no matter what it took or cost him; of that he was certain. Roland turned back to his desk and resumed his paperwork, feeling infinitely better than he had done earlier in the day.


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

Grace gathered the nursing staff and VADs together and informed them that, in view of the large number of expected casualties, they needed to open the secondary ward, which would require thorough cleaning, airing and preparation of beds by 6pm. A steady supply of linens, bandages and dressings needed to be made available and all instruments sterilised for surgery. Disinfectant and iodine were to be fetched up from the stores and chloroform, too.

"Matron, I'm afraid that chloroform levels are running low," Margaret Quayle stated, uncharacteristically quietly.

The sub-text was immediately clear to Grace; it was quite likely that all but the worst procedures would need to be done without anaesthetic.

"Why?" she remonstrated, upon being told this last point. "I specifically instructed Quartermaster Soper to ensure continuity of supply. This is not an additional element of our medical supplies; this is key to the men's comfort and survival."

"I'm sorry, Matron, I really don't know why."

Grace was certain that she had seen a box of chloroform arrive only a week ago, and mentally made a note to check the receipts against the requisitions, when she was able to gain access to the stores. Soper seemed to have a sixth sense when there was a spot check due and Margaret Quayle was often in his company. Grace did not trust either of them; true partners in crime, if ever the phrase was deserved.

"Well, if we do not have chloroform, it will have to be brandy. There should be plenty of that, but the surgeons will need to know that tonight may be one they would do well to forget. I shall speak to them about this."

The nurses set to work under Grace's watchful eye. Tea-leaves from breakfast were shaken on to the floors to set the dust and then swept up by the VADs. Every surface was dusted and disinfected. The lamps and windows were cleaned and mattresses turned, prior to making up the beds for the arrivals due later on. Huge quantities of bandages and dressings arrived and were stored in the cupboards, ready for use when required. Trolleys were ready with kidney dishes, swabs and iodine laid out. The VADs did Grace proud, selflessly working, to ensure that the casualties would be well cared for. By the time they had finished, the ward was unrecognisable. As she walked up and down doing her final checks, she felt a surge of affection for these young women, who had been transformed by their experiences into people of real worth and substance. Grace knew that when they returned home, life would never be the same for them, any more than it would be for her. Adjustment would be hard, but they had the independence of spirit to effect change and she was certain that they would do so.

"Thank you for your efforts today. The men deserve the best we can give them and you have certainly delivered that. Please ensure that you have adequate rest before the convoys arrive. The first is expected around 10pm, and tonight will be more demanding than most, so be prepared. To your duties."

As Grace left, she heard Marshall say, "That was nice of her, wasn't it?" Grace smiled quietly to herself as she left. Marshall had done well and despite driving Grace to distraction on occasion, she had a sneaking fondness for the young VAD, who so desperately wanted to help others.

The next stop was to speak to Roland about the lack of anaesthesia as he would need to address the surgical team, with her in attendance. She knocked on his door, soaked through once more, and entered when she heard his voice.

He smiled when he saw her and said, "Ah, Matron. Is all ready?"

"The additional ward is prepared, Colonel, but I am afraid that I have some disturbing information. It seems that we are short of chloroform." Grace readied herself for the storm she knew would come.

"Why? That's a basic requirement. Doesn't Soper realise that men are having limbs removed or facing invasive processes?" Roland looked and sounded furious. He was rarely if ever angry, but when it came to patient care, he would not compromise.

"I know, Sir. I've told him to ensure that we always have sufficient supplies and the reasons why have been explained to him several times, but it seems Soper has run short."

"So why the blazes haven't we got it? Is the man a complete idiot?"

"Colonel, I am certain that a box did arrive last week, but I cannot prove it without access to the paperwork."

"Dash that, Grace; I'll do it myself, now! Come with me."

Roland seized his cap and coat from the stand by the door and stalked out into the rain towards the stores. Grace followed behind, barely able to keep up with him. He pushed the door open and went in, looking for Soper to explain himself. There was no sign of the Quartermaster and so Roland went behind the counter and started to look for the delivery documents and requisitions. Meanwhile, Grace checked the shelves to make sure that the box had not been overlooked, but she could not find it.

"Ah! You were not mistaken. See here; a box of twelve bottles was delivered last Wednesday. We have not used that quantity in five days, so where are they?"

"I have no idea, Colonel. I have looked for them and they are not here."

"Damned man! I've had queries over his performance for some time and now this." Roland looked at Grace and saw the sense of responsibility she felt about this situation, even though it was not within her remit. Her eyes fell and she could not look at him. "It is not your fault, Matron," he said, careful to observe the right protocols of address, in case Soper was nearby, which he might well be. The man was constantly appearing when least expected. He was as silent as a burglar.

"But I feel I ought to have checked," she replied.

"Absolutely not! Soper spends too much time skulking about the camp and town for my liking. It is not your job to check on him, if anyone ought to have, it should have been me. I shall not make the same mistake twice."

Roland left the stores and, catching sight of Corporal Staines, ordered him to bring Soper to his quarters. He led Grace back the way they had come and they waited together. He took her cloak and placed it in front of the stove, once more, and gestured to her to sit and dry off. He impatiently paced up and down until, eventually, Staines appeared with a flushed looking Soper, who had just appeared back at the Field Hospital, following an unscheduled trip to the town. In his hands he was holding three bottles of chloroform.

"What is the meaning of your absence from duty, Soper? And why do you have three bottles of chloroform in your hands?"

"Sir, I left me wallet in town. I had a message to say it'd been found so I went back to get it. I hope you can understand why. It had personal items in it, which I'd have hated to lose."

"Why did you not tell anyone?"

"I told Sister Quayle, Sir."

"Well, we'll check with her on that," Grace said

"You do that, please, Matron. I think you'll find she'll back me up, the good Sister will," said Soper, looking straight at Grace and almost challenging her authority.

"Why do you have three bottles of chloroform in your hands? You've not explained that at all." Roland asked.

"I was told that you needed them, Sir," Soper ingratiatingly replied.

"Don't be facetious, man! Where did they come from?"

"I got them from the doctor in town, Sir. Well, I thought I'd kill two birds, like, you know; and seeing as our box was received damaged and you needed chloroform, I decided to get some from the doctor. He had some spare, so I requisitioned it and said I'd pay him for it later on. He was very obliging."

"I'm sure he was. Let me see them."

Soper passed the bottles to his commanding officer with distinct unease. Roland did not need to check them to see that they were standard British army supplies.

"So you requisitioned our own stock from the doctor, did you, Soper?"

"No, Sir. I don't know where he got it from. It could have been from any supplier and he ain't going to say where he got it from, now is he, but it weren't from me if that's what you mean. Those are standard stock bottles. There's so much trading going on that it would be impossible to say where he got it, but I tell you again, Sir, it weren't from me. That'd be stealing."

"It certainly would, Soper. By the way, have you recorded the damaged delivery?"

"Yes, Sir, I did it straightaway."

Roland held out the paperwork, with no comments recorded upon it in any way.

"Where did you record it, Soper?"

"I must've been mistaken, Sir. So much goes through the stores; I can't be expected to remember everything off the top of me head, like."

Both Roland and Grace knew that he was lying, and that he had certainly sold the chloroform to the doctor, but the most they could do was to discipline him over the failure to follow procedures.

"Get out of my sight, Soper." Roland barked the instruction at him and watched with disgust as Soper left the office. "The man's little better than the rodents, which we keep at bay."

"At least we have the chloroform, Colonel. The men won't suffer so much and you've fired a broadside across Soper's decks," Grace soothingly said, aware that she needed to calm Roland, as a long night of hard work lay ahead of them.

"I suppose you're right, but it goes against the grain to see him get away with it. I want you to question Sister Quayle though. Let's see what happens there."

"Colonel, is there any point? He'll have forewarned her and if she is in cahoots with him, she'll say whatever he wants her to."

"I know, but I don't want them to think we say one thing and do another."

"Of course; you're right. I'll speak to her when I tell her she is in charge of the ward tonight." Grace replied and, without hesitation, nodded her head in acknowledgement of his order.

Roland looked at her keenly for a few seconds, wondering if his vehemence had surprised her. She caught his glance and looked quizzically at him.

"Penny for them?" she said.

"I just wondered if I had shocked you, I suppose. I rarely get angry, but I was just now and I didn't want you to think that it was aimed at you, or that I was calling into question your judgment," he replied.

"I didn't think that at all. You're my commanding officer and I defer to you in all matters of discipline and protocol," Grace simply stated.

"Yes, I am your commanding officer, but you know that you are a great deal more to me than a mere subordinate."

"Am I, Sir? Exactly what am I to you?"

He was not sure if she was teasing, as her face gave nothing away.

"Well, Matron, let me see if I can answer your question. Please follow me."

With that he walked towards the rear of the office and stood with his back squarely against the wall, hands clasped behind him. She followed him and they faced each other, a little apart, neither saying a word, feeling the silence and the tension, which she had initiated and he had taken to a whole new level.

"Come here, Grace."

She slowly took a pace towards him, then another, and finally she stood immediately in front of him. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel its pulse at the base of her neck. Still, he did nothing, but simply looked at her. She looked at him, uncertain now where this was leading.

"You asked me exactly what you are to me. Allow me to show you." He took her hands and kissed each finger, turning her palms towards him and caressing each in turn with his lips, running up to her wrists. The effect was electric. Then he placed his hands around her waist, pulled her towards him and bent her back over his restraining arms, so that her neck was exposed. He ran one hand up and down her neck, lightly tracing patterns along its length, which set her body on fire. Finally he swung her up and claimed her mouth with his own, kissing her passionately. He could feel her response, and knew that they must not continue any further. It was not safe. As the kiss ended, he held her close, so close that she was left in no doubt of his need for her, and placing his mouth against her ear, he whispered, "Does that tell you what you want to know, my darling?"

She could not speak; her emotions were running out of control, and so she nodded, looking up at him with eyes glittering with feelings, which she could not find the words to express.

"Will you stay with me tonight, my love, after we have finished?" he asked.

"Yes." One word, simply stated, but carrying all her hopes and more.

"Go now, before I do something I ought not to." He smiled down at her, as he said this and, as she turned to leave, she looked over her shoulder and returned his smile.

As she left the office, the rain hit her once again and reality kicked in, but she could still feel the warmth and security of his arms around her, which gave her the strength she needed to cope with what the evening would bring. How she had done this in the past without him, she did not know; how she would be able to do it in the future without him, she dared not consider, for she knew she could not; not any more.


	15. Chapter 15

_My good intentions remained mere intentions this week due to lots of things happening at work. I am sorry that you have had to wait for the promised update, but I have spent much of the day writing to make it up to you. I hope you enjoy the latest foray into the world of Roland and Grace. _

CHAPTER 15

The incessant, dull drumming of the rain on the waxed canvas above her head had kept Grace from anything like rest. She had seized a few moments of fitful escape, but they were measured in minutes rather than hours. The VADs had done everything she had asked of them & she had sent them to sleep a few hours before. She hoped their physical exertion would help them to fall into the restful state, which had been her aim, but, which had so far evaded her.

"This is pointless," she thought, "I might as well prepare." So she got up from the narrow bed and, lighting the lamp on the small side table, went to prepare for the arrival of the next in a seemingly interminable series of convoys from the Front. The destruction wrought to the human beings, who were ferried into her care, was something Grace found hard to reconcile with any principle, no matter how politically important. Lives were not expendable in her view. She had previously had to keep those thoughts under wraps, but, in Roland, she had found a kindred spirit. It helped to be able to voice her feelings. Previous Commanding Officers had not shared his enlightened views. It was, perhaps, part of what underpinned their relationship. They could trust, rely and share with each other in a way she had never encountered before. He had always treated her as if she mattered & her opinions were important to him. Few people, especially men, had treated her that way.

She had realised early on that Roland did not conform to the stereotype of the standard male officer. She had reported to enough of those in her time. He was firm and had high expectations of his staff, but he was also kind. She had only experienced kindness with Amar; a short-lived period, the painful memories of which lay buried in the deepest recesses of her psyche. She had known he was someone to whom she felt drawn, but, the seeming impossibility of any relationship, beyond the professional, had left her with no alternative but to sublimate her feelings into becoming his right hand woman & helpmate in the hospital. He gravitated towards her, rather than to the more senior and obsequious Margaret.

Quietly, over a period of months, she had come to realise that she could trust him with her innermost thoughts; or at least some of them. He often spoke with her on his ward rounds or asked her opinion on treatment for certain patients. Always it was done in a manner, which conveyed his respect for her, and she knew that their friendship was fast establishing itself. Margaret could not resist opportunities to comment on this in an unpleasant and suggestive way, but Grace had learnt not to rise to her bait and took strength from the support Roland tacitly gave her; sometimes drawing her away from her more senior colleague, which quietly reassured her that she really was of value to him.

Her appointment as Matron had totally set the cat amongst the pigeons. She could still only remember elements of that day. It was as if all the detail had been subsumed by the wave of amazement and panic, which had engulfed her. Of course, Margaret's response had fed into her amnesia. Roland had called Grace into his office after his rounds and asked her to sit down in one of the old worn armchairs at the back of his office. She had thought that she must have done something wrong, although she could not think what that might be. He had brought her tea and sat down opposite her. She had braced herself for the worst, but when his words came, they were words of affirmation and confidence in her abilities as a nursing sister and colleague.

"Grace, I want to appoint you as my Matron, in overall charge of the nursing staff in this hospital. I hope you approve my choice."

She had been so taken aback that the teacup had tilted and she had narrowly avoided spilling its contents over her pristine grey skirt and blouse.

He had looked at her with a smile playing across his mouth and she had known that there was only one answer she would ever give him; "Yes, I do, thank you, Sir."

"Grace, I've told you before, my name is Roland when we are not on display."

"I'm sorry, of course. Thank you, Roland."

"I shall be telling Sister Quayle of my decision and I would like you to be here with me. If she has anything to say to you, she can say it in front of me."

"Are you sure," she hesitated before adding, "…Roland? Sister Quayle is more senior to me. I am only a Junior Sister. She will certainly be angry."

"I am sure, Grace, more sure of this than anything else in this war. You are the right person for the job and for me…..to work with, to help the men in our care." His split second hesitation had made Grace's heart skip a beat. "You are Sister Quayle's senior in every way which matters. My decision is final and, yes, I know she will be angry, which is precisely why I want to show her that you have my total confidence."

"I shall try never to give you cause to regret this decision, Roland. Thank you again."

Grace remembered that at this point he had put down his cup, got up and moved to take hers, before clasping her hand in both his and smiling down at her. To Grace, it had felt so much more intimate than that, but, she believed that to be mere wishful thinking on her part. It was many months later that Roland had confessed to Grace that he had been overwhelmed by a desire to take her in his arms and comprehensively kiss her. She had smiled at him and told him that it was never too late to congratulate her. They had laughed and made good on his omission, leaving her breathless and happy beyond words.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and saw that she was smiling at the memory. It seemed incongruous that she could feel happy at a time when she knew that so many casualties would be arriving; the broken in mind and body, the maimed and the dying. The thought was enough to bring her back to reality and she combed her hair through before pinning it into a bun at the nape of her neck and fastening her head-dress in place. The face, which looked back at her, was cool and professional. In an instant, her memory took her back to the office, standing at the side of Roland as he said "Enter" and Margaret Quayle had opened the door, her expression hardening as she saw Grace, but acknowledging her with a short nod of the head. Her expression had turned flinty as Roland diplomatically disabused her of any notion that she would be Matron.

"I see, Colonel. I look forward to working with you Sister…I mean Matron Carter." The words had been spat out, rather than said, and Grace had known that she would now face one of the most difficult periods of her life, as she fought to assert her independence and authority over the woman whose knowledge of her relationship with Amar was forever held above her head like the mythological sword of Damocles.

"I am sure I can count on your support, Sister Quayle." Grace had replied.

"Of course. Have I not been a constant support to you all the years of our professional acquaintance? I take great pride in the fact that you have been appointed to your new role, as I feel that I have invested many years of training and instruction into helping you achieve this."

"Sister, Matron Carter's efforts are what have brought her to this point and those are hers alone. I know that she will look to you to follow her lead and to inspire our younger nurses and VADs to strive for the highest levels of professionalism. I trust she can expect your commitment to this aim."

"Undoubtedly, Sir. Now, unless there is anything else, may I return to my duties?"

"Thank you, Sister Quayle."

The door was closed with more force than was perhaps necessary as Margaret had left them. Grace and Roland exchanged looks, which said more than words would have done.

"Grace, I shall brief the nursing team later today. Please assemble them in the side ward by 3pm."

"I shall, Roland, and thank you."

"We shall make a formidable and forward thinking team, Grace. Till 3pm then."

She recalled leaving the office and seeing Margaret waiting on the opposite side of the compound. Her eyes had bored into Grace and then she had turned on her heel and walked towards the women's quarters. Grace went to the main ward and, once there, recommenced her duties, after telling the staff that the Colonel would address them at 3pm about some structural changes.

And now, she was once more about to go to the main ward, but how her life had changed since then. Roland and she had finally acknowledged their love for each other and, ironically, she felt freer than at any point in her life, despite being trapped in a war zone. Grace fastened her cloak and, after putting out the table lamp, she took her lantern, lit it and went out into the dark rain swept night, strangely uplifted and calm before the storm that was to come.


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

Roland stopped pacing his office floor, at the sound of the light knock on the door. He knew who it was and smiled to himself. As Grace entered, blown about by the inclement weather once again, he took the lantern from her, set it down on the desk and quickly pulled her to him, planting a lingering kiss on her forehead and simply holding her close for a while.

"I've been pacing about waiting for you to come," he said. "I wanted to see you so badly."

"And all I've done is to daydream about you, so I think we're as bad as each other," she replied.

"Really?"

"Definitely. When we're not together, it's the closest thing to being with you."

He kissed her for that and tightened his hold on her, before letting go and refocusing on the task at hand.

"Come along, my love. I would far rather make love with you, but we have work to do."

"I thought you might like to check the wards with me, Roland, and then we can make sure all's in order in the operating theatre."

He nodded his assent and, replacing the lantern in her hand, he followed her out of the office. They felt the sting of the wind and rain the moment they left the shelter of the office. He walked on ahead of her, trying to absorb the worst of the rain, to offer her some protection, but it was a hopeless task. They entered the main ward, which was quiet as most of the men were asleep, and then went through the adjoining link past the nurses' station to the side ward. It was as pristine as he had ever seen a ward present itself and he nodded his approval to Grace and thanked the staff on his way back out to the theatre. The brief respite from the rain was soon over as they hurried to the operating theatre. The tables were ready, instrument trays prepared, Carrel & Dakin solution lying in large vessels and the gauze masks, for the anaesthetist to administer the chloroform, stacked along with bandages, dressings and the rudimentary transfusion equipment, which Roland had introduced following his brief sojourn with a team of American surgeons. Despite its ramshackle appearance, it had saved many men's lives.

"It'll do, Matron. It'll have to."

"It's the best we can do, Colonel, in the circumstances."

"I know and you have done a very good job. I shall go to the receiving tent, now, and we'll do our best as the wounded arrive."

"I shall wait for them and undertake a preliminary prioritisation with Sister Quayle as they are brought off the lorries. She is fully briefed. Once that is completed, I'll join you in theatre."

"Thank you, Matron." Looking round and seeing that he was neither observed nor overheard, he quickly squeezed her hand and whispered, "You are as constant as the Pole Star."

She smiled and returned his squeeze, "And you are my cherished protector." So saying, they left the operating theatre and made their way to the receiving tent. They had no sooner arrived at their posts, when the first sounds of approaching vehicles could be heard in the distance.

"I must go," she said.

Roland watched her as she walked to the end of the wooden walkway and stood, her lantern held high in the darkness, her slight frame buffeted by the wind and rain, but immovable. His pride in her had never been greater and, for a few precious seconds, he allowed himself the luxury of floating in a sea of emotional response as he realised that he had never loved her more. This slender woman had pierced through his heart as surely as if she was a stiletto. She had become his rock, a beacon of hope and light in the murk of the daily existence of those fighting as part of a nation at war. He wanted to tie himself to her for the rest of his life and never let her go. In that split second, the knowledge that his marriage to Hetty was well and truly over, was reinforced a thousand times, as was his resolve to build a future with Grace.

The first vehicles churned through the mud and disgorged their suffering, human cargo onto the rain sodden landscape of Field Hospital 25A. Grace and Sister Quayle went to each man assessing the extent of their injuries and allocating them to tracking lanes of nurses and VADs, appropriate to their individual condition. The frailty of human flesh and bone was etched upon Grace's consciousness as she watched her nurses consoling and comforting, whilst they cut lice infested, blood and mud soaked uniforms from the shattered and bleeding bodies beneath. The pain, manifested in the moans and screams of the men, was something none of them would forget; nor the apologies of many of the casualties for making a fuss. This was their daily lot; to assist the sick to recover and the dying to leave this realm with some dignity and comfort. Grace pushed her thoughts to one side and concentrated on her next task. Leaving the nursing team behind, she went to the operating theatre, cleaned and prepped herself to assist, and gowned up in a voluminous white cotton coverall which was far too big and cumbersome for her. Roland was already there with the rest of the team and it soon became apparent that tonight would test their resolve and their skills to the utmost.

The first patients were brought in on stretchers and transferred to sheeted tables ready for the surgical procedures, which it was hoped would save them. There were internal injuries, which required immediate intervention, and shattered limbs for setting, bullets to be extracted, faces to be re-arranged if possible and the inevitable cases of gas gangrene which, despite the use of Carrel & Dakin's hypochlorous acid ¼% solution, were still all to frequent. What the situation would have been without it, heaven alone knew. All of these were encountered throughout a long night, which saw the surgeons working across multiple tables simultaneously and Grace move seamlessly in support, suturing incisions and assisting in the difficult task of tying off arteries, as well as passing the required instruments on demand, and dressing and bandaging wounds, the severity of which defied belief. The night wore on and, when the final patient was brought in, Roland said he would deal with him. The team were exhausted and this was his call to make.

As he drew the sheet back from the young man lying on the table before him, he fought hard not to reveal his revulsion. Private Hywel Jones had already lost the lower part of his right leg, but his thigh was swollen and blackened from the effects of the gas produced by the bacterial infection, which had claimed his foot and calf. The symptoms were now present to within inches of his hip and if left would certainly kill him. The limb sounded hollow and the pain at having it touched was expressed through Jones' sharp inhalation of breath. His temperature was registering 104 degrees and Roland knew that surgery was risky.

"Will I lose it?" a young and frightened voice asked.

"Well, we'll have to see. You can rest assured that if there's any chance of saving it, we shall do so, Private Jones, and we won't know that until we take a little look inside. I wouldn't worry about it; just concentrate on saving your strength and let us do our job of making you well again."

Roland tried to sound positive for the benefit of his patient. He did not want him to be worried as the anaesthetic was administered. Roland looked across at Grace, his eyes conveying what she could already see; the desperation he felt at being unable to save the limb. It was already too far gone. The time taken to get these men from the point of injury to the hospital was simply too long, despite packing the wounds with the hypochlorous acid solution. This was not South Africa, where the conditions were dry and sandy; the battlefields of northern France were originally manure dressed farm fields and the anaerobic bacteria, which entered wounds, were quick to create their foul and deadly by-products. Roland felt such frustration that by the time he saw his patients some, who might have been saved, were beyond hope. The anaesthetist slowly administered the drops to the mask and Private Jones' breathing became more regular. As soon as he was certain that the patient was stable, Roland said,

"Surgical saw and arterial clamps, please Matron."

"Sir." Grace passed the requested apparatus to Roland, who started the process of amputation, and she fought to suppress the bile which rose in her throat as the stench from the rotten limb hit her. The rest of the surgical team refused to leave as this was a risky amputation. The femoral artery was notorious for haemorrhaging and their help may also be required. Roland removed the limb, clamped the major blood vessels and sutured them. The wound was closed and bandaged having been packed with dressings saturated in Carrel & Dakin solution. Grace took care of this latter element in the procedure. It seemed that all had gone as well as it could. Private Jones was removed to the ward and Grace started to clear the operating theatre and to clean every surface with disinfectant. The dirty linens were removed by the VADs and taken to the area at the rear of the compound for washing and drying. How they would be able to dry anything if this rain persisted was a mystery, but Grace was simply too focused on her task to think of that now.

"Matron, get someone else to do that," Roland stated. "You need rest."

"I'll do it, Matron," VAD Trevelyan offered and Grace nodded her approval of the offer, having also seen the small smile, which had passed between Trevelyan and Thomas Gillan.

"Make sure you thoroughly cleanse every surface, Trevelyan. Bacterial infections can be transmitted to other patients if we are not careful. And make sure you wear gloves to protect your hands, too," Grace's instructions were heeded as she saw Kitty Trevelyan move to the stores and remove a pair of gloves for her own use.

"Come Matron, let's clean ourselves up and see our patients before adjourning to the office to evaluate tonight's performance, if you have the energy."

"Yes, Colonel."

After discarding her soiled surgical gown and thoroughly disinfecting and washing her hands, Grace joined Roland, who had waited for her to finish. They walked onto the ward and checked the status of each patient, advancing quietly between the lines of beds until they saw the screens around one bed at the far end of the ward. Grace knew straightaway that it was Private Jones. He was the only patient, whom they had not yet seen and his position near the doors at the far end of the ward indicated the view that he was not expected to survive. Only those patients "in extremis" were placed there so that if, as expected they did not survive, the laying out of their body and its removal could be done with the minimal disturbance and upset caused to other patients. As they parted the screens, it was clear that they were too late. The impact of surgery on top of a dreadful infection was too great for Jones' emaciated young frame to cope with and he had succumbed shortly after his return to the ward. Roland's features betrayed nothing, but Grace knew him better than that.

"Matron, if you would, we need to perform the evaluation, whilst matters are fresh in our minds. My office please."

"Yes Sir." She walked beside him from the ward to his office, seizing her cloak as she did so. He put his cap on and seemed oblivious even of her presence with him. As they entered the office, he closed the door and stood facing away from her. Grace walked up to him and placed her hand on his arm, knowing this would be a long night.


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

Feeling Grace's hand on his arm jolted Roland from a place, where he had managed to control his emotions, into one where all control was lost. The office was in darkness, but she could see, in the slight glow cast by the stove, that his face was wet as the tears silently rolled down his cheeks. She reached for him and pulled him to her, cradling him as he uncontrollably wept into her shoulder, his arms clinging on to her as if to life itself.

She showered him with murmured words of gentle comfort and love, knowing that this was not simply about the loss of a patient. She stroked him, gradually hushing the sounds of his distress. As he started to recover, she stroked his face and raised it so that she could kiss him and show him the love she felt. As if reading her mind, he seized her to him and kissed her with a passion, which took her breath away. Every tiny element of feeling they had for each other was contained in that meeting of lips and mouths opening to each other.

As they surfaced, she said,

"Come, my darling, sit down here. I'll make you a drink. You've had nothing in hours." She led him to their armchairs and he sat while she made tea and brought him a glass of brandy, too. "I think you need this."

"Grace, I only need you," he said, taking the glass and placing it to one side, with the tea, on the table, as she sat at his feet, her head resting on his knees. "When will this nightmare end so we can be together?" he asked.

"I don't know, my love, but it can't be much longer. This isn't about us though, is it? It's about Freddie isn't it?" she answered, looking up at him.

"Yes, it is. Private Jones was young and healthy, with his whole life ahead of him, just like Freddie, before this bloody war started. Now they're both gone and there was nothing I could do to save either one of them."

His distress had been replaced by barely concealed anger. Grace knew better than to try to say anything. He needed to let go and who better to do it with than her. She loved him, she understood him and she would bear whatever burden he wanted to share with her. "I hate this place, Grace, this God forsaken wilderness of death and destruction. If 'the powers that be' wanted a damned war then they should have been let loose on each other to fight it out and left our boys to their lives. How many more lives must be lost, Grace, how many? These are people's children, raised with hope and love, left to die in this squalor and filth. I only had the two boys; now I have one and I am terrified of losing him, too. Alexander is my most precious child; I will not lose another son, I swear. And I'm terrified of losing you, Grace. I couldn't go on without you. The longer this goes on, the less time I have to live the life I want."

Grace raised herself to her knees and placed her hands on either side of his face.

"Shh. Please, my love, don't think such things. Alexander will be safe. It will be over before he is old enough to even consider fighting and, if he is like you and drawn to medicine, then he can work away from any areas of danger. Please, sweetheart, don't do this to yourself. I can't bear to see you so distressed. I promise, you will not lose another son. There was nothing you could do for Private Jones; he was too weak and his body could not cope any more. You did what you could and you gave him hope with your last words to him. No one could have done more; I was there, remember? As for me, God willing, you will never lose me. I love you too much to meekly accept separation from you. Somehow, we would be together. I believe that the spirit transcends all physical separation if there is true love between people. I could no more go on without you, than you without me. Believe that I love you with my whole being for, if it is possible to do more than that, I already do. You are in my thoughts from the moment I wake, to the moment I sleep, and then you inhabit my dreams. You will not lose me, Roland. Whatever it takes to be together, I willingly shall do. There is no privation I would not endure for the chance to spend a few minutes in your company. I love you; I cannot state it anymore simply than that."

Grace's voice had gathered intensity as she spoke and its urgency had drawn Roland with her to the vision of a shared future where they would be together. He reached for her, pulling her into an embrace, which physically mirrored the passion of her words, tilting her chin upwards, kissing her, and as her arms moved to rest around his neck, pulling her from her knees to sit on his lap. He cradled her and continued to kiss her with increasing passion, which she returned in full measure. His hands moved over her body, gently at first, then more insistently as his introspective mood lifted and his fears fled.

She could feel the stubble on his chin scrape against her face and neck and somehow, perversely, that element of discomfort heightened her desire for him. They had always been so careful not to mark each other, in case it attracted attention, but tonight she welcomed his male roughness and almost wanted him to set her apart as his. Perhaps it was the physical manifestation of him losing conscious control of himself because of his need of her, as he both felt and gave pleasure in equal measure. Whatever the reasons, she relished the knowledge that she was his and that he wanted no one except her to share his bed.

Later, Grace would take this moment and encapsulate it in her memory for ever, but for now, she entered fully into their lovemaking, urging him on as his touch tantalised her body to fever pitch. She could feel his physical response pressing against the backs of her thighs, despite the layers of clothing which separated them, and she quite deliberately moved against him. He groaned and his hands gripped at her hips. Their faces moved closer as their lips danced, sometimes gently brushing against each other, at others the brushing turning into a possessive seizing of each other, mouths opening, tongues stroking and teasing, whilst their hands travelled up and down seeking those areas of greatest sensitivity. What they were doing had a single aim and they both knew this. Everything they had been through that night had informed their need to embrace life and love to its full extent.

Roland edged forward to a point where he could lift Grace from his lap and stand with her in his arms. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his neck and murmured,

"Please, now."

He carried her to his bedroom, pushing the door open with his shoulder, and placed her on his bed. He bent down and unlaced his boots, kicking them off, while his hands moved to remove his shirt and trousers. Grace lay watching him, her arms stretched above her head, as he removed his undershirt and pants. She revelled in his obvious need for her as he stood above her. He bent over her and kissed her deeply, before unlacing her boots and pulling them off. He straddled her, as she lay beneath him, and then bent his head to kiss her again, his hands undoing her blouse, which he removed, as she rose up from the bed, and threw onto the floor. Next his fingers unfastened her corset and the waistband of her skirt, which met the same fate as her blouse, as she eased her hips off the bed to make their removal easier. As he did this, he shifted position so that he was between her legs and his fingers caressed her through the thin cotton of her undergarment. She reached up to hold him, but abandoned her efforts as he increased the pressure of his fingers, pressing into her through the rapidly dampening material, stroking her as she whimpered with pleasure and raised her hips in anticipation of each transit through the most intimate parts of her body, which he alone knew in their entirety. Her head was flung back on the pillow and moved rapidly from side to side as she gave herself up to his complete control.

He pulled his hand away and, before the moan had left her mouth, he had delved beneath the waistband of her undergarment and worked his fingers back into her, but without the barrier of material to separate them, while his thumb circled her most sensitive point, eliciting moans of increasing pleasure, with each movement across and around it. She gripped his shoulders and moved her hands to tighten around his arms as her hips moved with a life of their own against his hand, which appeared designed purely for her delight. He watched entranced at the evidence of his own power over Grace's body, as she moved faster and uncontrollably against him. Every time he saw her approach her climax, it was as if he was experiencing it for the first time, overwhelmed by seeing the force of passion ripping through her and tearing his name from her mouth. He bent forward over her, taking her mouth in a kiss of primal intensity, as she tensed around his fingers and pulled them deeper inside her, as she pressed herself against his hand, wave after wave breaking over her. He brushed her hair back from her face, where tendrils had come away from the loose coil at her neck.

"You are the most beautiful creature ever placed upon this earth and you're mine!" Roland whispered into Grace's ear, as he kissed and sucked at her, his fingers slipping out of their warm, damp hiding place. She pressed his hand back against her and undulated beneath his palm saying,

"Yours, my love; only yours."

He looked into her eyes and, positioning himself above her, entered her quickly and easily. She gasped with pleasure as her name escaped his lips with an intensity, which she had barely dreamt possible. His eyes never left hers as he made love to her with increasing passion, his body aching for release with each stroke, building to a point at which he could no longer hold back, and his love for the woman moving beneath him, erupted with a force, which left them both reeling, clinging to each other, afraid to let go, as if they were the only two points of stability in a world spiralling out of control. They lay together, limbs entwined, heart rates returning to normal and souls touching as never before. Roland turned onto his side and pulled Grace to him, holding her with infinite tenderness as he kissed her.

"After tonight I shall never be alone, my Grace. Did you feel it, too?"

"Did I feel our spirits touch? Yes, I did, my darling, God help me. We shall never be apart. I shall keep this night safe in my memory."

"As will I, my dearest one; forever."

She reached up to touch his face, cupping his cheek in her palm and taking in every inch of him, as if to imprint it upon her consciousness for all eternity. He took her hand, kissed her palm, folded her fingers over the spot and pressed it against her heart. She mirrored his actions and they sealed the moment with a kiss of such heart-stopping beauty that it brought tears to their eyes and a smile to their lips. Roland held Grace against him, wrapped his sheet and blanket around them, and prepared to sleep for a couple of hours before they would be forced to part once more. She kissed his chest and snuggled closer to him, offering a silent prayer that this man, whom she loved, would be spared. At that moment, Roland had planted a kiss on her head and asked God to protect the woman enfolded in his arms and with whom he wished to spend his life. Sleep claimed them both and they drifted, safe in each other's arms, towards a different horizon.


	18. Chapter 18

_Thank you for your wonderful reviews; it is really good to receive them and I hope that you continue to enjoy the story, which has a long, long way to go. _

CHAPTER 18

Roland stirred, as wakefulness gently pushed aside sleep from his body and mind. He realised that Grace had not moved and that her head was still resting where his arm met his chest, her fair hair visible in the gloaming. He looked down at her, as his eyes adjusted, taking in the sweep of her lashes against her cheeks; the soft waves of blonde hair across her shoulders and spilling across his arm; and her mouth, lips invitingly half open as she slept. Her breasts were pressed against him and he felt her legs still gently wound around his. This room, so basic in its construction and contents, had become a place of retreat from the real world beyond. It did not matter that they lay on rough army sheets and coarse woollen blankets, for her body welcomed him with its softness and gentle curves. He felt the familiar stirrings of desire, which always accompanied his thoughts of her and their lovemaking, and unconsciously he tightened his grip on the object of his passion.

Grace sighed in her sleep and snuggled closer to him. He smiled at that. Even in her sleep, it seemed that she wanted to be as close to him as she could be. He could not help himself, he wanted to kiss her and he bent his head to gently caress her lips with his. He felt her mouth open beneath his and, in her sleep, she moaned softly with pleasure. The sound of her enjoyment, even when at rest, was his undoing, as his good intentions came to naught and he deepened their kiss. Grace's arms reached up and wound round his neck, pulling his head down and, in her first waking moments, she recognised her lover's touch and rejoiced in it.

As they broke the kiss, he said, "It will soon be time for us to get dressed, if we're to avoid detection."

Her face registered her lack of enthusiasm, "Not so soon, surely?"

"I'm afraid so, my love."

"I miss you, Roland."

"You're with me each day."

"But not in the way I want to be."

"I know, sweetheart, but that won't be forever, I promise you."

"I simply want to spend some time with you and not have to run away before everyone is up. Sometimes, I feel just like Cinderella."

"Well, Cinderella has a happy ending and so will we, one day. I won't settle for less."

"May I have a happy middle part, too?"

"Whatever do you mean, Grace?" he queried, whilst cupping her breast in his hand and teasing it. He had immediately guessed her meaning, but he wanted to hear her say the words he longed to hear.

"You know what I mean," she said, her lips curving into a smile.

He bent his head at this and drew the now hardened peak between his lips, suckling and licking at her as she gave herself up to the sensations he was creating. He pulled her closer still and ran his hands along her waist and up her ribcage to knead the softness above and add to her pleasure.

"Mmm, that feels so good. You do know what I mean, after all."

With that he abruptly stopped his work on her breast and said, "No. What do you mean, Grace? Tell me. I want to know, to make sure that I do whatever it is you desire."

She drew in a deep breath, made uneven through the effects of his actions upon her body. "I want you to make me yours."

"And how exactly would I do that?" With that he pressed his thigh up against her. She looked into his eyes and felt driven to move against it, when his mouth captured her breast again. Grace reached down and gently encircled him with her hand. His mouth left her breast and she heard his sharp intake of breath, as she felt him stiffen even further. She moved her mouth along his jawline and, reaching his ear, she whispered, "By accepting what is yours and so willingly given by the woman, who lives for your touch and would crumble without your love."

Her words were his complete undoing. "Grace, sweetheart, I want you so." He felt his manhood throb, beneath the movement of her hand, as he moved in concert with her.

"Come, my darling, please, have what you want, for I want you as badly," she murmured.

He needed no further prompting, as he turned her onto her back and she raised her arms above her head, inviting him to enjoy her body, which was flushed and sensitised to a point she had never believed she would reach. He worked his way down her body, stroking, kissing, sucking and licking her, as she sighed with pleasure, before kissing and worshipping the seat of her femininity. Her legs parted, allowing his hands to work their magic. Her fingers caressed his head, while his mouth worked on her, and she raised her hips to give him the very essence of her being. Suddenly, his mouth lifted and she felt the coolness of the air play upon her, as he prepared to make love to her. Her legs wrapped around him, but he hooked his arms under them and raised them higher. His eyes never left hers and he watched them darken and soften, whilst easily entering her and sheathing himself deep inside. His reward was a moan of the purest pleasure as she moved beneath him.

"I love you, want you, so, so much; have me, now, yours only yours, be with me forever." The words tumbled from her mouth, as thoughts formed and she almost incoherently gave them expression, wanting no part of herself to be separate from him. Every time they made love, Roland experienced a depth of feeling, of which he had never felt himself capable. Grace had changed his view of himself and of love. She was so open and honest in her feelings and her responses to him. He knew that this was the defining relationship of his life; her words of love and desire were all he needed to hear and one look at the response to him, playing out across her face, reinforced his sense of self-worth and triggered in him his own response of wanting to cherish Grace, his beloved, his best friend and his partner. His body seemed to move with a mind of its own; each stroke removing any doubts he had ever had about his ability to satisfy a woman, and bringing them closer than he had dreamt possible. Grace clung to him as he took her towards the point of completion. Suddenly, he leant forwards, captured her mouth with his and she felt, rather than heard, him vocalise his pleasure as the movement of his body increased in pace. The knowledge that he was so close, too, propelled her onwards, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist and pulling him unresistingly deep into her. Her body throbbed with the welcome and familiar sensation of surge and contraction, while his thrusts became more urgent. She felt him tense, as he drew upwards, stiffened and, with one final movement, pitched them both beyond the point of conscious thought, their cries of fulfilment stifled as they stopped each other's mouths with kisses.

Grace held him to her, enjoying the feeling of love and warmth. He was still inside her and that, too, added an additional sensation and breadth of feeling to their embrace. Neither said a word, as if frightened to break the perfect spell, which they had cast about them. Roland stroked Grace's body, holding her with a delicacy of touch, at odds with the passion driven moments, which had preceded this point. Raising his head, he kissed her breasts with infinite tenderness.

She was overcome and, breaking the silence, quietly said, "I love you; how I love you."

He raised himself up and, looking deep into her eyes, whispered, "You are rest, you are peace, you are bestowed upon me from heaven. That you love me makes me worthy of you; your gaze transfigures me; you raise me lovingly above myself, my good spirit, my better self!"

Grace recognised the words she had sung to him on the beach on the first evening they had made love. Her eyes filled with tears of joy and she reached for him, kissing him with every atom of feeling within her.

"I don't want to go," she said.

"I don't want you to either, but we have no choice, my love."

"I know; certainly not as things stand at present."

"It will be different one day, Grace."

"I know that, too, and I am grateful."

"No Grace, never feel grateful. You have given me the greatest gift possible. You have given me your love and I have you in my life each day. For now, that must be enough, but there will come a time when we have more."

"I don't want anything except you. I am nothing without you."

He kissed her and drew her against him one more time. They looked at each other and knew that they had to rise and make ready before the rest of the hospital team awoke. It was harder with every day which passed to leave each other's arms, but this was the reality of their situation and they both recognised it. He watched as Grace rose from the bed; she turned and faced him, beautiful in her nakedness and extended her hand to him. He took it and walked round the bed to her, before stroking her chin with his fingertips and placing a further kiss on her upturned mouth.

"I love you, Grace."

"And I you; always."


	19. Chapter 19

_I apologise for the huge gap in updating this story. I meant to let you all know that I was due to go on two weeks' holiday, but real life threw up some major demands over the last few days prior to my departure and I simply ran out of time. For those of you who wondered what on earth was going on, I am truly sorry. Rest assured, this story is still in its early stages – I hope that's a good thing – and that you will continue to enjoy it! As always, your reviews are appreciated more than you know. _

CHAPTER 19

Grace struggled to let go of his hand, but she knew she had to collect her clothes. Scooping up her garments, she moved back to the bed to get dressed. She had to get back to wash and change as her body now bore the musky scent of their union. She scooped her hair to one side so that she could look down to fasten her skirt and blouse. Roland smiled as he watched Grace's look of concentration. She was oblivious to him as she fought against the hooks and buttons which conspired against her fingers, which seemed to have changed into thumbs in a matter of minutes.

"Here, sweetheart, let me." Roland stepped across to her and gently moved her hands, taking control and securing her uniform. Grace seemed distracted, but at his touch she calmed and leant into him.

Looking up, she said, "I must go before the shift change, my darling. The last thing we need is for me to be spotted."

"I know, sweet, but it's hard for me to let you go; harder with each day which passes. One day..." His voice trailed off as he pulled her into his arms and rested his chin atop her head. His fingers tilted her chin upwards and he bent his head to possessively claim her mouth, which opened beneath the pressure of his. Their kiss was filled with all the emotion of which each was capable. Grace raised her hand and caressed his face, as both realised that reality had invaded their cocoon of love.

"My headdress; I mustn't forget that."

Roland passed it to her and then made her face away from him as he took her hair and twisted it into a coil. Grace moved to pin it in place, but he took the pins and anchored the loose golden roll at the nape of her neck, kissing the exposed skin as he did so. Grace thrilled at her lover's touch and moved back to gently lean her head against his, as he nuzzled her neck.

"I must go. I don't want to, but I must."

"Come back after ward rounds. You can update me and we'll review the serious cases."

"I shall, but I'll have to deal with Sister Quayle before that."

"Ah, yes; I'd lost sight of her. Do you need my input?"

"That is kind, Roland, but just knowing I have your support is enough."

They walked from his bedroom into the office. It was still dark but dawn was approaching. At the door they stopped as one and, looking deep into each other's eyes, stole one last brief kiss. He silently opened the door an inch, checking to ensure they were not observed. The square outside was empty and Grace quickly eased out. Stepping beyond the confines of Roland's quarters and office felt increasingly like stepping off the edge of the world. Within, Grace felt safe, secure, loved; beyond, she felt vulnerable, particularly when in Margaret Quayle's vicinity. Roland had told her that she had to speak to her about Soper's activities, but Grace knew it was utterly pointless, as surely as she knew Margaret was complicit in Soper's dishonesty. They had known one another for too long and Grace had seen the lengths to which Margaret would go in pursuit of her twin gods; money and vengeance. Swiftly and quietly, Grace walked to her tent, grateful to reach it without encountering a soul. She ducked into its sanctuary, safe from prying eyes and moved to retrieve a clean uniform and undergarments from her storage unit. As she did so, she caught sight of herself in the small mirror on top of her personal trunk and critically appraised herself. Quite what she expected to see, she was never sure, but in the main, she liked what she saw far more than she used to.

The eyes which looked back at her were gentler than she recalled, warmer and altogether brighter. She recognised love beaming back at her and inwardly rejoiced that her life overflowed with an abundance of hope, despite the worst which this place continually threw at her. That hope was fragile mattered nothing to her; it was nonetheless hope, and it had been a long time since she had felt that.

With total certainty she knew that Roland loved her and would find a way for them to be together. His love was now the touchstone of her life and her heart was inextricably linked to his. They communicated without words; each glance increasingly laden with secret, unspoken meaning and longing.

Recently, it seemed as if she was aware of his thoughts, without even being in his company. He had shared with her events and reactions from his day and, on more than one occasion, she had confessed that she felt she already knew about them. He had laughed, called her Circe, and said that magic explained why she had so absolutely bewitched him. She had wound her arms around his neck and, unwittingly triggering an earlier memory for him, said that she was more likely to be a siren, calling him to her through her song. He had told her then of his thoughts the first time they had made love, had professed himself hopelessly ensnared by her and had kissed her into oblivion.

In truth, it felt as if she was a willing prisoner of a love, which had overwhelmed her and she was happier than she had ever been in her life; so happy that it frightened her lest this joy be torn from her grasp. Grace shivered at that thought, as if a dark shadow had momentarily blotted the sun's warmth from her body. She had never loved like this. Her feelings for Amar paled against those, which she had for Roland. When this realisation had initially hit her, it was with some force and then she had felt guilty that she could so easily appear to transfer her affections; and yet, she knew that this was not the case. She had believed she loved Amar, and she had: she had wept bitter tears when they had been separated and she had mourned his death, but it was pointless to compare what she felt then, with what she now knew to be love in the deepest and truest sense of the word. It was as if she compared young wine with that matured in the cask for several years.

Grace knew she was helpless against the emotional onslaught every time she saw Roland, heard his voice, felt the warmth of his body against hers, no matter how slight the contact. She was lost, and he, the sole means by which she would find her home port on the journey of life. She had felt that she would know if Amar was lost and discovering that he had died, unbeknown to her, had cruelly dashed her self-belief. Her feelings for Roland had shown her why she had not known. He consumed her every conscious, and unconscious, moment and she wondered if she was more like Titania than Circe, so enamoured of him was she. For a split second an image of Bottom in a Lieutenant-Colonel's uniform flashed across her mind and made her want to laugh out loud. "Grace Carter, you're hysterical! What has he done to you?" she thought with a smile, resolving to put all such irreverent thoughts from her mind.

Still smiling, Grace undid the fastenings of her uniform blouse. It was cold and she determined to wash in stages to keep at least part of her warm during the process. The water which she decanted from the ewer into her basin was icy cold and as Grace wrung out the washcloth her fingers stiffened. She wiped the cloth over her face and neck, and her skin leapt to life as the chill hit it. She rinsed it out and turned her attention to her breasts, which felt tender to the touch. She recalled the sensation of his mouth and hands suckling and caressing her. Her body instantly responded, her nipples stiffening and pebbling. In the past, she might have felt embarrassed at the physical signs of her desire for him, but she was no longer troubled by these and embraced her humanity, glad that she knew such love; it acted as a counterpoint to the daily misery of crippling injuries and death, with which Grace was called to deal. She raised her arms, soaped herself and then ran the cloth over her breasts before replacing it in the basin.

Next Grace eased off her skirt and undergarments, and ran the cold cloth over her stomach and buttocks, until her skin tingled. Again she soaped herself carefully and rinsed off the thin lather, discarding the washcloth in the basin and then pouring away the soapy water. Adding more clean water to the basin, Grace once more washed her abdomen and ran the cloth lower, over flesh sensitised by lovemaking. Her body no longer felt like hers alone; she belonged to him as surely as the sun came up and set each day. Every part of her knew his most intimate touch and she marvelled at the passionate nature each had unleashed in the other. Moments of shared need resulted in an emotional hunger, which devoured all in its path. Her need to touch, kiss and consume him was matched only by his own for her.

There was a tension between the desire to be active and the initiator, & to be passive and the recipient of their mirrored emotional responses. She had known she was capable of passion, but the scale of that evoked by Roland was beyond anything, of which she had believed herself capable. She knew without a trace of doubt that he felt the same and that in each other they had found the love of their lives. His love was clearly etched on his face whenever they were together, and she knew she could not dissemble. Her mother had always said her face was an open book and that her eyes truly were the mirror of her soul. One look in their passion-darkened depths told Roland all he needed to know and her driving need to physically express her feelings meant that for the first time in his life he knew what it was to be unreservedly loved by a woman.

As she washed away the traces of their last time together, she could not but help imagining his hands and mouth on her. The jolt of longing, which flooded her, took her by surprise. How was it possible to still hunger for his touch, when they had so recently been together? She felt no shame; he was part of her, but it still filled her with wonderment. He knew her every response, and she, his. It was their miracle that when both had all but given up on ever finding love, it had found then instead.

As she dressed for the new day, the reverie was broken by the sounds of military life resuming. She immediately focused on what lay ahead and the need to prepare for her meeting with Sister Quayle. The dislike she felt for her colleague was almost palpable, and she knew that little would be gained from this dressing down, beyond reinforcing her position as the superior ranking nurse and firing a shot across bows, which were more than ready to do battle. Grace took one last look at her face in the mirror, smiled to herself and left her tent. As she walked across to the main ward, she knew that Roland was with her in spirit. It helped.


	20. Chapter 20

_Making up for lost time! _

CHAPTER 20

Grace arrived at the main ward on time to observe the shift change. She drew herself up ramrod straight and watched as the night volunteers and nursing team crossed over seamlessly with those of the day. Standing immediately inside the canvas entrance, she ensured that she was updated on any events, which had occurred since she had left with Roland, after discovering Private Jones' tragic death. Fortunately, the remainder of the night had been less eventful than the hours which had preceded it, with the new patients apparently adjusting well, both to their post-operative condition and to their new surroundings. Grace was pleased with the results of the team's work in surgery and with the commitment of her volunteers and nurses. There were many occasions when she was sure they must feel as if she was being petty with her attention to the fine details of their roles, details which perhaps, in their eyes, served no useful purpose. At times such as yesterday evening, however, she was just as sure that they were relieved her insistence on proper training and observances had ingrained best practice into them all, to a degree where it had become second nature, even amongst those with no prior nursing experience.

As Marshall left the ward, Grace said, "Now you are off duty, get some rest. With the current level of sustained activity at the Front, we all need to make sure that we seize every opportunity we get. By the way, where is Sister Quayle?"

"She said she was feeling unwell, Matron, and retired to her tent."

"When was this?"

"Oh, quite early on, Matron: not long after you left with the Colonel."

"Indeed? And why was I not informed that you were without a senior nurse at a time when resources were already stretched?"

"We naturally thought she would tell you, Matron. That is what usually happens in such circumstances. I am very sorry if you were unaware of this."

"It is not you who ought to apologise, Marshall, although your sentiments are appreciated. I shall call on Sister Quayle on my way to my office. Now to your quarters and rest. It seems that you have all done far more than your fair share. I shall return at 11am to do my rounds with the surgical team. Day shift, you know the routine. Check first on all new admissions and pre-existing serious cases. Feed those who can manage to take some solid nourishment and ensure all patients are adequately hydrated. Bed baths, washes, wound irrigation and dressing changes must be completed before I return. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Matron," was the crisp retort. Grace turned on her heel and exited the ward. She was angry and disappointed that Sister Quayle would abandon her post at such a crucial time for the hospital. Grace knew that it was a deliberate ploy. Anyone who knew Margaret Quayle, with her much trumpeted devotion to duty, would recognise her contempt for Grace's authority in her actions and failure to advise her superior of the situation, as protocol required. Wild horses would not keep her from the fray, much less feeling a little unwell. More than anything, Sister Quayle enjoyed the nursing challenges, which arose from military engagement. She would not have missed this for anything, unless something of greater moment, from her perspective had arisen. Soper's activities, and the need to cover over their traces, would have fitted that bill. She did not care about the patients as she ought to do; her absence of humanity over Prentiss' Blighty ticket illustrated this beyond any doubt. Roland would never forgive or forget it, and nor would Grace. She had seen the chance of recovery Roland had given him removed by an act of pure malice. Even now, Grace could feel a sense of indignation that someone charged with restoring health could destroy a life so completely.

As she walked Grace brought her emotions under control. This was not the first time, and it would not be the last, when Sister Quayle worked against the command team. Grace knew that her comments would need to be pitched at the practical implications of her Sister's absence, rather than hinting at any personal dimension, which may exist between them. Furthermore, there was the issue of potential dishonest conduct on Soper's, and likely on Sister Quayle's, part, too. There were times when Grace wondered why Roland had appointed her as his Matron, yet she knew that she could never have served under her older colleague and that life in 25A would have been vastly different had he done so. As she thought it, she knew too that the relationship with Roland might never have developed or been slower to emerge with Margaret Quayle at the nursing helm. She recalled the early contact between them; she had known there was a frisson of attraction on her part, and she now knew he had felt it too, so it likely would have happened anyway, but how much longer would it have taken and how on earth would they have kept it from Margaret Quayle? Grace and Roland had relative freedom to meet now; it would not have been the case with Margaret in post. Grace was grateful and saw it as yet further evidence, if any was required, that she and Roland's relationship was meant to be.

As she reached the Sister's tent, she could see that the flap was fastened indicating that the occupant was not within; nonetheless, Grace called out, "Sister Quayle". There was no reply. Grace turned on her heel and retraced her steps towards her office. As she turned right, along the raised boards above the sea of churned mud, she spotted a familiar figure emerge from the quartermaster's stores. It was Soper, with his characteristic bullish posture, bending solicitously towards another person about to exit the wooden structure, as if he was whispering something. A quick flash of grey hair and Margaret Quayle came into sight, laughing, smiling and looking none the worse for her sudden nocturnal indisposition. Grace had all her answers right there in front of her, but she had to go through the motions. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, squared her shoulders, held her head high and walked briskly towards her target. The element of surprise was on her side and she was able to see looks of discomfort flit across both Soper and Margaret's faces.

"Good morning. Sister Quayle, if I might see you in my office for a moment."

"Certainly, Matron. I shall be there shortly."

"No Sister; now please."

Grace swept past, but not before she had spotted the knowing glance between these two collaborators. "They've settled on their story," she thought. "Still, they will know that they have compromised themselves."

She opened the door, walked in and stood behind her desk, her composure firmly in place. Margaret Quayle waited for an invitation to take a seat, which did not materialise.

"How was the night shift, Sister?"

"Uneventful." Grace noticed the absence of any recognition of her rank, but chose to ignore it.

"Hardly uneventful. I have heard that you were unwell, Sister."

"Oh, my health is hardly an event." Again, Sister Quayle omitted the respect due to a senior ranking nurse.

"I disagree, Sister, but I am relieved to find that you have made such a swift recovery and been able to check on the stores, as usual. I was surprised that I was not advised of your indisposition. That would be the usual protocol and it is also a bad example to set the younger, less experienced, members of hospital staff."

"I did not wish to disturb you. I was merely feeling under the weather. It was nothing major, but I did not wish to pass on any possible infection, no matter how minor, to men compromised by surgery. You, of all people, should understand that. They knew they could fetch me if necessary."

"I perfectly understand, Sister, that you left your post without telling your superior, and that when I called to check on you, you were not resting, but were in fact with Soper."

"As you say, it is part of my usual responsibilities to check on the stores." Once more, the lack of respect for Grace's role was glaringly apparent.

"What dealings did you have with Soper yesterday?"

"Very few. He did say that he had to return to the town as he had left his wallet behind."

"Did he indeed? You are aware that there are certain issues regarding his handling of key supplies, Sister Quayle?"

"My dear Grace, I may still call you that I hope, in view of our history as mentor and mentee?"

"Sister Quayle, I consider it best if we use conventional forms of address, whenever possible. It is confusing for the newer recruits to do otherwise, in my opinion. It is, after all, the outward manifestation of the respect which our rank demands. The maintenance of respect and discipline is key to creating an atmosphere conducive to maximising the performance of our volunteers, in support of the qualified nursing staff. Your many comments on the usefulness, or otherwise, of our volunteers, tend to support my position, so I am sure I shall have your support on this."

"Very well, Matron. In that case, may I speak frankly and respectfully on that very subject?"

"Yes, Sister."

"Part of military discipline is the clear delineation between ranks in the field. Well, I am sorry to say that, for some time, there has been talk in the hospital, which suggests that in your relationship with the Colonel, Matron, this delineation has become, how can I put this, "blurred."

"Sister, what exactly are you suggesting?"

"I have mentioned it to you before and, believe me, it gives me no pleasure to repeat it, but you two appear very close. When staff gossip about this and say that it is why you are in charge, it is also not good for discipline or morale, is it, Matron? It undermines your authority."

"I should be interested to know the identity of these staff, but I suspect that you may develop amnesia on top of your other temporary malady. The situation you outline, if accurate, is precisely where your role as Sister is crucial. I take it that you have nipped such gossip in the bud, Sister Quayle, and reassured them that my appointment was solely made on merit?"

"I prefer not to discuss such matters, Matron, as they fall outside my remit. We are military nurses, after all, and are not here to indulge in idle gossip on matters of the heart. I do not deign, furthermore, to enter into conversation with my inferiors on matters, which are not their concern."

"Ah, so you say nothing to dispel the rumours; that is, if there are any. And if there are, then by your own admission, these matters are not your business, nor anyone else's either, because you say, you will not discuss them for that very reason. Why therefore raise them with me, if that is the case; and think carefully before you answer? I suspect that you are doing that which comes easily to you, Sister; insinuating the worst and trying to undermine both Colonel Brett and myself, as a result of your bitterness and jealousy, on being passed over for promotion."

"Grace, um, Matron, we both know that you have always been susceptible to the pull of your emotions and found them hard to control."

"Do not concern yourself with my emotions. I am very much in control of them and see nothing in your unpleasant remarks, which merits an emotional response. You are, as always, way off the mark. I have earned my promotion, Sister Quayle."

"Hear me out; I mean to offer counsel based upon my years of experience and knowledge of you, which may be to your advantage."

"Matron!"

"Very well, Matron."

"There is nothing to say, Sister."

"We both know that the Colonel has affection for you; why else would he have offered you your current role?"

"Be quiet, lest you overstep the mark, Sister!"

"No, not where my reputation may be tarnished by your actions. Mud sticks. They say that you have earned your role - on your back. I have no opinion on that, one way or the other, but you are a fool if you think he is interested in you. He is a man away from his wife, recently bereaved and susceptible, under even normal conditions back at home, to female charms, if what my friends tell me is correct. He's been seen out and about with someone younger than you. In the present circumstances, I am sure that he needs very little encouragement, but that you should consider he would give you more than a cursory glance is foolish in the extreme. I know you, my dear, I know that in you passions run high, but think very carefully about your future. He will not leave his wife for you; he has too much to lose. You, on the other hand, stand to lose everything. A quick tumble and you would be left literally holding the baby. It's hard to be a matron with a bastard in tow!"

On the surface, Grace was icy calm, but inside, her head was reeling and she locked her knees to prevent her legs from collapsing beneath her. What vitriol was Margaret Quayle capable of throwing at her in her envy and resentment? She had called her a whore in all but name. Grace knew with no hesitation that the remarks were as inaccurate as they were vicious. She and Roland were soulmates; there had not been any relationship before her, of that she was certain. He was not susceptible to female charms, beyond her own, that is; and who were these "friends" who had allegedly seen him with a much younger woman? He had never mentioned anything like this to her and she knew he would have done so. Sweet Jesus; Margaret Quayle had hit below the belt and whilst she did not believe her, it hurt and she needed Roland to reinstate the balance to her life. She felt sick, but she would not run to him. That was exactly what her adversary wanted to see. She doubted not that she had cooked up her strategy with that louse, Soper.

"You may leave now, Sister. Your concerns, both for your reputation and mine, are without foundation. I can only assume that your minor ailment has affected your cognitive functions. Perhaps you should consider a return to your quarters and, if you feel no better, possibly some sick leave may be necessary. I can very easily arrange it for you. I think it best if, in future, your comments are confined to matters of nursing care. At least on that subject, we may find some common ground. And, once more for the avoidance of any doubt, my appointment was based on merit."

"I have never said that the comments on how you earned your promotion were justified. Quite the reverse, I have said nothing."

"And in your silence, wittingly or unwittingly, you have added fuel to the fire. We know, at least, where we stand with each other. I shall look to you to actively reinforce my instructions on patient care and nursing discipline. As to my interaction with Colonel Brett, that is, as you correctly say, not a matter for conjecture or discussion by anyone else, particularly as neither he, nor I, concern ourselves with hospital tittle-tattle. We are motivated by the purest and highest of emotions, concern and care for our fellow human beings. I doubt you can say the same of your relationship with Soper. Take care, Sister, before you further attempt to sully Colonel Brett's reputation or mine."

"I have said nothing derogatory, Matron."

"You would do well to explore the concepts of omission and commission, Sister. Whilst seemingly different, their effects are often strikingly similar. Dismissed."

Grace watched as her nemesis exited her office and then she collapsed onto a chair, her body shaking with a mixture of anger, loathing and fear. She moved the papers in front of her without registering their contents and then realised that it was nearly 11am. "Ward rounds!" she said out loud and walked quickly to the tents to check on the status of the wounded men in her charge. It was good to have something on which to focus. The act of concentration helped to calm her errant thoughts, but did little to remove the feeling of emptiness and nausea, which accompanied her through this essential daily task. She made notes, as she accompanied the surgical team, of the more demanding cases so that she could update Roland, as he had requested. At around noon, her rounds having finished, she went to Roland's office. She walked at a measured pace, her posture purposely erect, so that anyone watching would not have seen her inward distress and confusion. She knocked on his door and entered at his command.


	21. Chapter 21

_There will be another gap in updates, starting later this week, but I'll try to post as much as possible before then. After that, reasonably normal service will be resumed! Thank you so much for your reviews. I am so happy that you are enjoying this. _

CHAPTER 21

"Colonel, is it convenient to review the patients with you now?" He was used to her observing the niceties of command language, but something about her tone filled him with a sense of unease, which a glance at her face, confirmed was fully justified. She was devoid of colour and her features appeared pinched.

"What is it, Grace? What's happened?" His concern over-rode his usual care for the outward observance of protocols.

"Nothing, Sir; nothing to concern you." Her voice was clipped and tense.

"I beg to differ. Something most definitely does concern me."

"Sir, walls often have ears," Grace whispered.

He nodded, as he followed her lead, and said, "Come, Matron; do take a seat by the stove where it's warm. Have you had tea?" He placed his hand in the small of her back and guided her towards the armchairs at the back of the room.

She sat down and shook her head, acknowledging that she had not had a drink, and he busied himself with making a pot for them both, all the while covertly watching her, while she clearly struggled with something, which had shaken her. As he did so, he recalled that she had been due to see Sister Quayle and he felt certain she was behind Grace's obvious distress. He placed the cups on the small table and drew his chair closer to hers, so that they were not overheard.

"Sweetheart, tell me what's happened." He reassuringly took her hand in both his, as he leant forward to close the distance between them and to obscure his action from anyone trying to look in.

Grace looked up and her eyes shone with unshed tears as she poured out what had transpired between Sister Quayle and herself. Roland's expression changed from concern to barely controlled rage; his face was like thunder, both for the insults Grace had endured on his behalf, and also because he had not been there to protect her.

"How dare she! Damn her to hell, the venomous witch. Her so-called friends would do well to tend to their work and to keep their noses out of other people's business. The young woman, to whom they refer, can only be my god-daughter, Tilly, who is training to be a nurse in London. You didn't believe that I was…." His voice trailed off as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it with such reverence that the tears, which she had held in check, finally spilled over and ran down her face, splashing onto, and staining, the material of his trousers. He raised his hands to her cheeks and wiped them away.

"No Roland, I didn't believe any such thing. I knew their interpretation was not true, but I am so alone here, vulnerable and anxious because of our situation. I know what I feel for you and usually that is enough, but in the face of this morning's onslaught, I felt under great pressure because you and I have to love in secret and that means I can say very little when we are directly attacked, as I believe we have been today. Nothing she said to me changes my feelings for you in any way, but I am so in love with you that I am terrified of losing you. I have invested my entire being in this relationship and I have nothing in reserve to fall back on; so, yes, I am vulnerable and she knows very well how to chip away at a weakness. My love for you is both my strength, but also my Achilles heel."

"Shhh..you will not lose me, my love. I'm yours."

"That woman tries to taint whatever is good & pure. I know you are married, but I love you so; I cannot help myself. Roland, if I did have your child, it would never be a bastard in my eyes, nor I believe in yours."

At this, her tears fell again.

"Grace, sweetheart, you have not broken that which was not already shattered. If I had met you when I was young, instead of Hetty, my life would have been rich in blessings, because I would have married for love, but I did not know you then. Hetty and I were ill matched from the start, as you know. She no more wanted me than I her, but where I tried for appearance sake, she would not, and the hollowness of our marriage has been the talk of many a London salon and officers' club for years. I'm surprised Sister Quayle's "friends" haven't heard about it. You have done me an incalculable good, my darling. I now know what it is to love and be loved. I could have gone my whole life without knowing the joy of reaching the pinnacle of mutual desire. I regret nothing, Grace, save that we have to wait until I can resolve my so-called marital situation. Grace, my darling, I would never see you hurt or place you in jeopardy. God knows how much I love you. I would walk away from all of this if I could, if this damned conflict was finished, and take you with me. The only thing I fear is losing you. There has never been another woman or pretty face to turn my head except the one here in front of me. My passion for you grows with each day that passes. I see you and I want you more than I believed it possible for a man to want a woman. You have stolen my senses and I can barely think straight. If we had a child, it would be created by love and I would count myself blessed to be a parent with you. Let Margaret Quayle do her worst; I'll make her wish she'd never been born, if she causes you any further anxiety. Know this, Grace Carter: I shall marry you; know this with every part of you. I shall not rest until you are mine. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, Roland; forever, yes!"

"So, my darling, dry your tears. We are rich in ways she never will be. Does she deserve our anger or our pity?"

"Our pity."

"Precisely. Now, are you ready to pass the pikes, one more time, for my sake?"

"Always: as long as I don't risk losing you."

"You won't. Colonel Purbright has ordered us to attend a medical briefing at headquarters; heads of field hospitals and nursing teams only."

Grace's face registered her incredulity at this opportunity and the response, which would likely greet it, given this morning's exchange.

"His orders: not our design. People can think what they want, but the background is watertight and all adds up. So what do you say?"

"Yes, Roland, a thousand times, yes, if we can have some time away from here. But where shall we stay? We can't stop in the same room. Women and men are segregated."

"You need not worry about that. I had worked out that you might say "yes" to an order from on high and things have fallen nicely into place. By the time I telephoned the nearest hotel, which Purbright has virtually requisitioned, to make arrangements for us, they said that they were fully booked. The concierge was most helpful, however, when I explained the circumstances and has made alternative provision for us at a small guest house, which his cousin owns. I have booked the two rooms, but we need only use one, if that is what you would like. They are already paid for. We'll see each other and be able to sit together all day at headquarters. There's even a formal dinner afterwards, but our situation means we shall be able to leave early, without attracting adverse attention. Added to which, there are so many people attending this and the men will separate off for their port and cigars in any case, that we can leave quietly at that time. We are the only people staying at the guest house, so we shall be able to be together. I also thought that you and I might take a couple of days leave afterwards."

Grace's eyes widened. "How?"

"Well, my angel, Purbright has signed off a leave pass for me, as I haven't had any time off in nearly fifteen months. I told him I had some personal matters, which required attention. I can sign off your leave to see "an old friend" so, as far as the hospital team is concerned, we'll be taking advantage of the opportunity to have some rest, apart from each other in totally different places, and they need know nothing else."

"Oh God. What if we're discovered?"

"We won't be & now I'll tell you why. We shall be picked up from the guest house by the valet of my oldest and, with the exception of you, my angel, my closest friend, Philippe Mouret. We shall be spending our leave as guests of Philippe and his wife, Annette. You will love it at their house; it is not far from Rouen, but quiet and off the beaten track. I have told them all about you and they want to get to know you. They are my friends, not Hetty's. If we are spotted, well clearly my "matters" fell through and you asked me to join you, and your friend, because we were both unencumbered, rather than waste my leave."

"That sounds like a dream come true."

"So you say 'yes'?"

"Yes!"

He took Grace's hand and raised it to his lips.

"When do we go, Roland?"

"Next weekend"

"That soon?"

"You know Purbright. Once he's made up his mind on something, he moves fast."

Grace smiled up at Roland, all her emotional worries forgotten. He loved her and they would be together, not just next weekend, but the moment he was free.

"I love you with everything I am, Roland."

"And you know I adore you, my darling. Trust me to make things right. I cannot conceive of a life without you. We are joined here." His hand covered the space just to the left of her breastbone. She raised her hand and pressed its palm over the corresponding area of his chest, all the time looking deep into his eyes.

The emotional connection between them was tangible; it ran as a current, pulling them inexorably with it towards the future, a shared future. Neither wanted to break the protective spell, which they had cast about themselves. To those who believed in such things it was as if there was a powerful magic at work, its origins in responses as ancient as time itself. These two saw nothing beyond each other and a driving force to be one, against which nothing could stand. It was meant to be, preordained, transcending conventional logic and laws, an emotional perfection of reciprocal feelings bound about by raw need. They were hopeless in the path of a storm whose energy was, at one and the same time, their anchor against the worst the world of men could conjure. Roland bent his head down towards Grace's hand, which reached up to gently touch his jaw. He looked into eyes, whose unfathomable depths of love held his gaze seemingly for an eternity. His hand clasped hers to his chest and she could feel the steady thrum of his heart beat against her fingers. In the distance the sound of an order being barked broke the still within his office and they woke as if from a trance. Grace's voice came as a whisper.

"I must go to the pharmacy to check the stock levels. We used so much yesterday evening and I need to assess what we need, rather than what Soper wants."

"I don't want you to go, but you must, I know. I'll visit the ward at 3pm."

"The men will be pleased to see you, Sir."

"Only the men?"

"No, you know not only the men."

"Who else then, Matron?"

"Your staff, Colonel," Grace said smiling from beneath half lowered lids.

"And any member of staff in particular?"

"I think so, Sir; in fact I know so."

"And after my ward round would this member of staff walk along the beach with me do you think, before it gets totally dark?"

"I think she might."

"Ah; it's a 'she'"

"Are you surprised by that, Sir?"

"No. I rather hoped it would be a 'she'.

Did you? Any particular reason, Sir? I have to maintain discipline amongst my nurses. It isn't possible to watch them all the time, but I had hoped that rather than leading them astray, I could turn to you when a firmer approach was needed."

He smiled broadly as he verbally played with her, "You know that you can rely on my firmness whenever you require it, Matron Carter."

Her voice grew huskier as she replied, "And you can count on my compliance at all times, Colonel Brett, as you well know."

He quickly pulled her to him and stole a kiss, leaving her breathless. "I assuredly do. Until later, my love."

Grace left his office looking considerably happier than when she had arrived. After she had gone, Roland paced around for a while, marvelling at his ability to make such a positive difference. All his life he had wanted to feel there was someone, who needed him as much as Grace clearly did. That he felt an equal need for her was more than he could have hoped for. It was overwhelming. He wanted to do so much with her to make up for lost time. Philippe had always been his confidant and, when he had told him of his love for Grace, Philippe had immediately offered Roland the use of his home as a place where they could be free to love without reservation or hindrance.

Roland could not believe his luck when Purbright's order to attend the medical briefing had arrived. He would have all day Friday, Saturday and Sunday with her and they would arrive back on Monday. He had asked Philippe if he could have Saturday evening alone with Grace and his friend had readily agreed. All he wanted was to be able to hold her, make love, sleep and wake next to her in a bed big enough for two. He had planned to walk in the gardens, rich in their autumnal colours, like an ordinary couple. That was all he wanted; to openly walk arm in arm with her, to hold and kiss her for the world to see that they were in love, to forget that they were part of the machinery of war and just to exist as human beings and not service numbers or ranks. He had determined to give her a token of his love; something she could keep close to her. It formed part of his plans for them. Philippe also had his part to play. Roland smiled to himself at the thought, but for now he would content himself with a walk on the beach later that day.


	22. Chapter 22

_This will be the last update for a few days, but if I can manage to get internet access, I shall do my best to upload. On the plus side, I shall be working on the next chapters alongside preparing things for the "day job"! Thanks for bearing with me and I shall do my best to make the waiting worthwhile. _

CHAPTER 22

The hours till 3pm seemed to drag for them both, but when he appeared on the ward, it was very much business as usual. Roland was keen to spend time with as many of the patients and the staff as possible, so that he could reassure them that their individual sacrifice and contribution mattered. Some were responsive; others less so, due to the effects of their injuries, but the overall impression was that this was an officer who genuinely cared about them. The nursing staff were always glad of a word of encouragement from him and this they received in full measure. He kept Grace close by, seeking her input, congratulating her on the quality of her team, on the smoothness of their responses and sending out a clear message to her critics, if such there were, that she had his full confidence. Grace maintained a quiet professionalism throughout and no one watching them could lay any charge at their door beyond a clear commitment to their patients and staff. They both knew that Sister Quayle, conspicuous by her absence, would be certain to learn of their activities and would know that they had not only picked up the gauntlet, which she had thrown down, but had cast it back at her feet, in their turn. Roland was by nature measured in his response to situations, but where Grace was concerned, his usual default mechanism did not apply. He would protect her, whatever the consequences, and he was certain there would be consequences.

An hour later they met, as arranged, at their usual spot in the woods, far from any potentially prying eyes. He reached for her as she emerged from the surrounding pines and undergrowth. Both had dressed warmly, against the worst of the damp conditions, and Roland had brought two blankets rolled up tightly in a small kitbag in case it became chillier.

She glanced over her shoulder and, satisfied that they were alone, wrapped her arms around him, pressing her lips against his chest. No words were necessary. He took her hand and led her along a narrow path, hidden from view behind high, thick shrubbery, which filtered onto the edge of the beach approximately half way down its length. At this hour, the beach was deserted and the sounds of the hospital had been swallowed by the increasing distance between the silent walkers and their point of origin. Roland put his arm around Grace's waist and, bending down, stole a kiss from a mouth, which offered the promise of a limitless, loving response, if he wanted it. Stopping in his tracks, he reclaimed her lips and passionately set his seal on her. Grace's gentle moan of pleasure fired him to deepen their kiss until they breathlessly broke apart. Pressing their foreheads together, they looked into each other's eyes and smiled.

"Who'd have thought I'd find the love I've searched for here in the midst of a war?" he said, holding her tight.

"It's probably truer to say that being exposed to the endless cruelty of war was the catalyst. It created the conditions in which we recognised the possibility of something beautiful happening between us," was Grace's response.

"I think I love your mind as much as your body, my darling. We found our better-selves and shed our reserve about grasping the opportunity for happiness."

"Reserve, or a protective carapace, to withstand the fear of rejection?" she ventured.

"Perhaps in my case, yes; but why you my darling? No one would reject you."

"I feared you rejecting me. I thought you were happily married, so how could I look for your love when I thought it lay claimed elsewhere?"

"Oh dear God, Grace, if you only knew how much I wanted your love from the moment we first met. I saw a spirit to match my own. I recognised something in you, which set my heart aflame with a longing I didn't dare acknowledge for fear of losing you completely. If I had revealed the depth of my feelings, I believed you would find it impossible to work with me."

"Roland, you would have found a heart unable to admit its love for you, no matter how much I wanted to, because of the uncertainty over Amar's fate. Add to that the prejudice, which I'd encountered, from those whose good opinion I had valued in the past, and you can imagine that I feared you would not understand the experiences, which had shaped me. I could not hide any of it from you, if we were lovers, so it was safer to settle for friendship; but how I wanted more."

"When Freddie died, I lost all concern about convention; in my grief you were my only safe harbour in a life devoid of human comfort. Then, when you told me about Amar, I selfishly hoped for more. Does that sound unfeeling because it isn't meant that way, but I so wanted you to love me and suddenly there was a chance?"

"I've been thinking of him: it's nearly a year, isn't it, my love?" She raised her hand to stroke his face and gently kissed him before adding, "In a strange way I felt we were sharing a common path. I was able to help you because I understood a little of your grief and, in so doing, it helped me to heal. I was finally able to admit that I had loved you from the start. That was hard; to admit to feelings for you which, I knew, were deeper than the feelings which I'd had for Amar. Do you think me disloyal?"

"Never! I know you by heart, Grace; you could never be disloyal. We are two halves of the same coin, my love: both secretly loving the other, both unable to reveal it, both sublimating need within friendship and perhaps, through so doing, we are the stronger for it."

"I know I cannot face a life without you in it. I used to worry about what others thought of me; but now I care only what you think."

"Why did you worry about other people?" he asked.

"Because I know how mean-spirited people can be and how much it hurts if you have a sensitive soul, even if you try to hide it. Sister Quayle made sure I knew the worst that was thought of me. It has taken your love to neutralise the effect of years of her poison being steadily dripped into the stream of my consciousness, but there are still times, like today, when she has the power to hurt and distress."

"So despite knowing how bad it can get, and it might get worse before it gets better, you still love me?"

"Darling, yes, never doubt my love; yes!"

"And you wondered whether I would love you? How could I not! Grace, I don't think the words exist to tell you the depth of my feelings. I adore you." He stopped walking as he said this, looking down into her steady gaze, as he held her to him. "I adore you, my one and only love. If God wills it, and I have a sense that He has brought us together, amidst these darkest of times, our love shall emerge from the shadow and shine brightly."

"Oh Roland, I pray you are right."

"You will not be a secret, 'hole in the corner' love, Grace. You are worth so much more than that. I shall find a way and, if Hetty refuses, well, I'll be with you whatever it takes."

Inside, Grace thrilled at his words and, turning her face to his, she reached to stroke his hair. She ran her fingers down his jawline, as she gently kissed his mouth, and then more insistently deepened their contact as his lips opened and they thirstily drank each other's kisses. They walked on, arms linked and hands clasped, until their hideaway beneath the pines welcomed them. It was surprisingly dry, considering the weather conditions of recent days, and was as sheltered from the elements as ever. Roland removed the blankets from his kitbag and spread the first on the ground. He sat down first, to make sure it was as dry as it seemed and, satisfied that it was, motioned for her to join him. Grace knelt down at his side and, facing him, she leant into him and kissed him. His arms came up around her, pulling her fully into his embrace. She wrapped her arms about him and rested her head against his chest. He reached for the second blanket and placed it round her and across his body.

They lay quietly as he stroked her and they kissed with a sense of wonderment that they could experience tranquillity when others were fighting. The light was fading and they knew this short interlude would soon end. Roland held her tight against his side and ran his hand down to rest on her hip. Grace could feel his warmth permeating the thin layers of her uniform. He looked into her eyes, seeking tacit approval, as his fingers eased her skirt upwards and he slowly ran his hand down her leg, returning along its length to cup her bottom. Grace moved against him as she felt herself respond. He placed his palm squarely against her, and she pressed into his hand seeking release from the pressure building within her. He moved his palm slowly, kissing her as he did so, inexorably finding her area of greatest sensitivity as she ground her pelvis into his open hand, sighing into his mouth through the building ache at her centre. Suddenly, he rolled her onto her back and, sliding his hand beneath the waistband of her undergarments, his fingers coaxed their willing prisoner to a point at which all control was irretrievably lost. Her head tossed from side to side and her hands clenched his arms as she rode a wave as real as those breaking on the shore, finally crying out his name as she found completion in his arms. He held her, brushing her hair back from her face, and asked,

"Better, sweetheart?"

"Mm. Yes, but you haven't..."

"Grace, relax. We have so little time now."

"No, that isn't fair."

"Darling, I wanted to do that for you and I can wait until later."

"I don't believe you." So saying, Grace ran her hand along the bump in Roland's trousers and smiled in triumph at his sharp intake of breath.

"We have the weekend to look forward to, as well."

Again she stroked the warm hardness, straining against his trousers, and was rewarded by a groan of pure animalistic origin, as he pushed back and reached for her. She nimbly unbuttoned his trousers and ran her fingers lightly down his length.

"Wait, I need a handkerchief."

"No; you don't! You need me!" She smiled as she bent over him. At that all logical thought was lost as he felt himself drown in the responses she evoked in him. He gently rested his hands on her head, but as his excitement rose, his fingers travelled into her hair, winding it like silken rope about them. Her name, torn from his lips, was the only coherent sound he made, and she rejoiced that when he lost control, his only conscious thought was of her. She marvelled that she could have this effect on the man she loved and cradled him against her breast, while he regained his composure.

"Did you really want to wait till the weekend?"

"No; but nor did I want you to feel obliged to reciprocate."

"I didn't and I never do. Did you learn anything just now?"

"Yes. If this doesn't sound impossible, I think I learnt that we are more deeply in love than I imagined. No one but you has ever made love to me in that way."

"And no one but me ever will because no one could love you as much as I do." She kissed him and his response mirrored the intensity of her words. Quietly they rose, as one, and made sure that each was neat and tidy for their return.

"Not a hair out of place, sweetheart," he said, stroking a loose golden tendril back behind her ear.

Grace mischievously smiled at him saying, "I'm very surprised, after your attentions!"

"You're incorrigible, but I love you."

"I know, and you know, but no one else does! You are as smart as ever, my love," she replied, smoothing down the front of his jacket and playfully running her hand lower, where it was firmly clasped by a laughing Roland.

"Oh no, you don't, Matron Carter. Come, it's time to get back. We don't want to be late."

"Indeed; what would they make of that? I wanted to ask what I should take for the weekend's gathering? Obviously uniform for the day, but you mentioned a dinner."

"You should take dress uniform for Friday evening's dinner, but once we reach the guest house, you can relax and wear whatever you wish. On Saturday, we'll be travelling by car followed by lunch and general activities during the day. You'll need an evening dress for Saturday and Sunday, so bring a couple of changes for the evening and day. I'm just looking forward to seeing you in something you've chosen rather than uniform. We'll return on Monday. Purbright is at District HQ after Friday's briefing and will not return till mid-week."

"Roland, thank you. You have done so much for me, for us."

"It's easy when you love someone. I want us to relax and to be free of rotas and routines, if only for a short while. We live by clocks so we're entitled to choose unstructured time off."

"True; but right now, we need to ensure we are observing the rules!"

"Grace Carter, you're bullying me!"

"I'm never a bully, but I am a stickler for order, Colonel Brett," she replied.

"I know; I've heard your nurses on the subject!"

"Roland Brett, take care lest I turn my attention on you."

"That sounds wonderful, Matron!"

They teased each other as they walked carefully in the deepening twilight.

"Grace?"

"Yes, darling."

"I love you so much." His reward was a kiss of infinite sweetness and a gaze, which promised so much more to come. At the tree line they went in together, as far as was prudent, and then silently, after a brief squeeze of their hands, in separate directions.


End file.
